TES Tales: Book I: Skyrim
by ncdogg
Summary: Sattilde joined the Thieves Guild at the age of 18. At the age of 20, her parents were killed in Falkreath by rogue Thalmor agents. This news changed a lot about her and she began to train even more vigorously with the guild. She wanted to avenge her parents, but wasn't sure how. In the 4th era, 201, she learned she was destined for a far greater purpose...
1. So Easy, a Footpad Could Do It

**CHAPTER ONE: SO EASY, A FOOTPAD COULD DO IT**

"Yeah, well, I didn't realize the noble was a retired Legionnaire." Brynjolf leaned back in his chair so the front legs no longer touched the dirty floor of the Flagon. "Had I known, then yes, I would have taken the back door." He chuckled. The Flagon erupted with laughter. The dimly lit tavern nestled beneath the city of Riften had been quite empty for some time. Thieves had come and gone; oh no, but not with the Ragged Flagon's belongings—the tavern was a home, a safe haven for thieves. It was the home of the Thieves Guild, a notorious guild of shadow walkers, taking from the rich, giving to the poor (or keeping it to themselves).

Among the laughing sat Sattilde Wolfguard, a Skyrim native Nord. She grinned in the distance, hiding at a separate table from the crowd, polishing her dagger. Brynjolf ran his large hand through his auburn hair, taking notice of Sattilde behind the rabble. He excused himself as the crowd split into individual conversations and took a seat next to her. He crossed his arms on the table, holding his bicep in one hand.

"Vex told me you did the Goldenglow job." His face was serious, no longer playful as it had been just a moment ago. It was strange to Sattilde how quickly he could go from a sarcastic joke to talking about guild business.

"It was simple. A job that could have been completed by a Footpad." She smirked, hoping to bring out that playful side in Brynjolf again, but he smiled only briefly. "I found something quite interesting." She placed her dagger on the table and then reached into the breast pocket of her guild armor. She revealed a clean, folded parchment, once sealed with wax, but was now flapped open.

"I uh, read the contents. It had nothing on the outside. It was on Aringoth's person. Little bugger said he had little choice. If he was going to wind up dead no matter who he crossed, why did he do it in the first place?"

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow, "Did you kill him?" He took the parchment from Sattilde's hand and began investigating its contents.

"Gods no! I just mean–"

"Aringoth!" Brynjolf was reading the letter and furrowed his brow. "The man sold the estate!"

"I know… that's what I mean. Obviously the guild wouldn't have murdered him, but Maven is a different story."

"What's that idiot thinking? And what's this odd symbol at the top?"

"I don't know. Some kind of dagger. As far as who it belongs to, I haven't the slightest clue." Brynjolf carefully placed the paper on the table, as if it may shatter if not handled properly. Sattilde pondered; she remembered something, years back when she first joined, of a member disappearing, but she couldn't remember the name. She also seemed to recall it was a sore subject for the entire group, so bringing it up wouldn't be a good idea. Sattilde tucked a black strand of hair behind her ear and rubbed her eyebrow with her index finger.

Brynjolf finally let out an exaggerated sigh, as if he had forgotten to breathe, "Let's take this to Mercer. Maybe he'll have some idea." They both pushed their chairs behind them, Sattilde tucked her dagger into her belt. The Ragged Flagon dripped with leaks, being located in the sewers of Riften. The organization was, for the most part, ignored by the authorities in Riften. Maven Black-Briar, being the most influential (and wealthy) person in the city, controlled the guards and businesses. She even gave the guild jobs to fulfill her plans and in return, she would pay the guards to look the other way when the guild conducted business in the city.

Sattilde and Brynjolf headed across the dining area of the bar. The area was a large circular pool, a central location for the many tunnels that formed the sewer network. Around the water's perimeter was a brick walkway, dirtied from sewage, traffic, and rain. There were several alcoves surrounding the walkway where merchants set up shop. It was all dimly lit; the main light source being the opening in the top that opened up to a sewer grate in the city. It shone down, a light burst illuminated the center of the room. At night, when the city lay dark, the only lights that flickered were the ones in the shops and the candles mounted on the walls near the bar itself.

In the corner of the cistern, behind the counter of the bar, a hallway winded to the right and then to the left, leading to the main cistern of the sewer. It, similar to the Ragged Flagon, had a brick walkway around the perimeter, but in the middle, hovering just above the water, were four arches leading up to a platform. Straight ahead, were two massive metal doors locked the way to the treasure room; an accumulation of the Thieves Guild hard work hid behind the doors.

"Mercer." Mercer was just across the cistern, poring over some documents. Unlike Brynjolf, who was much more muscular, unshaven, and square in the jaw, Mercer's only trace of facial hair was his 5 o'clock shadow. His hair was always clean cut, Sattilde always assumed to look presentable to clients. His jaw was more angular, as was his scowl, which he never seemed let leave his face. Mercer was the guildmaster, rising to the station when the previous guildmaster, Gallus, who was murdered.

"What is it Brynjolf?" Mercer seemed agitated, which wasn't unusual, as if Brynjolf had been pestering him for hours.

"Sattilde finished the Goldenglow job; found this little gem." Brynjolf tossed the parchment on the documents Mercer was reading as if it was no longer fragile, catching Mercer's attention. Mercer picked up the bill of sale, skimmed it over, his scowl growing more intense.

"Aringoth is going to feel Maven's wrath." He kind of shook his head.

Brynjolf stepped closer, "Any idea what the symbol at the top means?" he tapped the top of the paper. Brynjolf was a couple of inches taller than Mercer.

"Hm…" Mercer grabbed his chin. "I have some ideas, but nothing concrete." He changed the subject, "I think Maven is planning something. I need someone to go talk to her. It could possibly have something to do with this." he waved the parchment, then tossed it to the desk.

Brynjolf and Sattilde walked back toward the middle of the cistern, "I think you should go see her. I'm almost definite she knows of Aringoth's betrayal. She's not a fool. In the meantime, I'm going to contact some people and see if I can find out more about this symbol."

"We still on for tonight, Brynjolf?" Sattilde pushed her hair behind her ear again.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss a night of Vex yelling at you for the world." He chuckled. There it was, the sound Sattilde wanted to hear. She couldn't think of anything witty for a response, so she smirked instead. For the past 5 years, she had grown very close to Brynjolf. When he greeted her, she felt her heart thump violently in her chest. When he smiled at her, she could feel blood rush to her cheeks. When he said her name, she felt her stomach flip.

She always suspected he felt the same, but he always seemed distracted by the guild's decline to really show his feelings toward her. She knew he liked her, at least as a friend, and that was enough for her. He was a mentor for her and a confidante in the issues that have overwhelmed her.

His face turned sour for a moment.

"What is it?" Sattilde quickly asked.

"Nothing… I…" He rubbed his jaw, "My mind was wandering. I'll see you tonight."

Sattilde stepped aside so he could follow the arch down to the secret exit into the city.

That was strange. Sattilde shook it off as Vex approached her, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I see you completed the Goldenglow job." She said, folding her arms across her chest, and stretching out a foot between herself and Sattilde.

"Yep." Sattilde replied. She had run-ins with Vex before, who seemed to be irritated that she was a member in the first place. She knew it wasn't anything personal; Vex just liked to be on top. Vex wanted to be the best thief in the world, but as far as Sattilde was concerned, she already was. Sattilde would never stroke Vex's ego anymore than it needed to be though.

"'Yep'? That's all you have to say?"

"Pretty much. I'm not in competition with you, Vex. I've already told you before."

"Are you going to be there tonight?" Vex was clearly looking to embarrass Sattilde for doing the job better than her. Sattilde knew she would find some way to point out the flaws she made during the Goldenglow job.

"I planned on it, yes."

"Good." Vex turned on her heel and headed toward the living quarters. Sattilde removed herself from the cistern, emerging from the secret entrance into the city. After the altar covered the secret passage, Sattilde leaned against the wall that created a cover for people who wanted to pray. After a couple of minutes had passed, she walked out from under the brick awning and rounded the corner. A guard usually patrolled the back of the city, to make sure people didn't desecrate the statue of Mara. While they usually ignored the Thieves Guild member, Sattilde always liked to practice caution when exiting the guild headquarters.

For once, it wasn't raining in Riften. Autumn had just begun and in a couple of months, the rain would turn to snow. Being in Skyrim's southern area and being just far enough away from the mountains, Riften was of a warmer climate than most of Skyrim's other cities. The leaves turned oranges and reds, and by the start of winter, the land would be blanketed in snow.

Sattilde hated the winter though, but not because it was lacking in serenity, but because it was a solemn reminder of her parents' death…

It was the 30th of Sun's Dusk in the 4th era 196, winter had recently arrived, and in the southern city of Falkreath, it was bustling with shopkeepers, traveling merchants, and children playing in the streets. Sattilde had moved to Riften three years earlier in pursuit of a better life. Falkreath was very much impoverished and people would often scrape by, besides the well-to-do merchants.

The Thalmor, having free reign due to the White-Gold Concordat, would often enter the cities of Skyrim, making sure people weren't illegaly practicing the worship of Talos. Sometimes, they would take matters into their own hands and personally punish violators themselves.

However, sometimes Thalmor agents went rogue; not following any law at all and causing havoc where they saw fit. Falkreath was a victim of this cruel behavior on that cold Sun's Dusk night, five years before, where a band of rogue Thalmor mages burned half of the city to the ground. Among the victims, Sattilde's parents perished in the flames of their violent act.

Sattilde rubbed her arms in the chillier air. She thought of her parents often and blamed herself every time she did for their deaths. If she had been there, if she hadn't left, if she had just stayed for another year or two, maybe, maybe she could have protected them.

Brynjolf often reminded her that she was not as skilled with weapons back then and there wouldn't have been much she could have done; after all, several guards were also killed in the attack, a civilian would have faired much worse in the fight.

She let out a heavy sigh, as if it would lift the weight of her guilt from her heart, but it never helped. She made her way past the Temple of Mara to the center of town, where similar to the cistern, bridges connected the center platform to the rest of the city's wooden walkways. Merchants had small stalls set up and could be heard shouting out their blurbs of their "fantastic", "life altering" products.

Sattilde pushed her way past the housewives shopping and the men bargaining to the inn, The Bee and the Barb, opening the door to the usual squabble of drunken Nords, guffawing and slapping shoulders over tankards of mead. At the left were several tables with seats, most were full, even in the morning. Beyond them was where the Argonian Keerava would be cleaning the counter or baking her traditional Black Marsh recipes, and Nord recipes to appease her patrons. Talen-Jei, also an Argonian, would sometimes stand close to the entrance, surveying the place, making sure the people weren't getting too rowdy, which was to be expected when dealing with intoxicated Nords.

Talen-Jei acknowledged Sattilde with a head nod and she made her way past him and to the right where a staircase led to the rooms above, to Maven's usual meeting place. The inn was normally loud enough that no one could overhear their conversation and the least suspiciuos place to meet as most everyone went into The Bee and the Barb for food and drink.

"Sattilde, so nice to see you again." Maven sounded as she were mocking Sattilde. She sat in the corner of the second floor, thumbing through some documents, much similar to Mercer. She hadn't even looked up. Her hair was pulled back with her jet black hair in a braided crown at the top of head, the rest of it flowing down past her shoulders. Her eyebrows held a deep seated hatred for people and her lips were very good at showing her disgust with most.

"How about we skip the coversation?" Sattilde had dealt with Maven before, and knowing Maven, she liked to get right down to business. Wasting time was not something that she enjoyed.

"You're a firebrand, aren't you?" Maven didn't even let a smile slip. "It's good to know Brynjolf isn't running a beggar's guild over there. You don't take me for a fool, do you, Sattilde?"

Even if Sattilde did, she would never in any circumstance, admit it to Maven Black-Briar herself, or anyone for that matter. Maven wasn't a force to reckon with and she had eyes and ears spread out through the area, stretching beyond the city's limits. "Not in the slightest." And that was the truth.

"Good, because I know of Aringoth's treachery, but he doesn't know of mine. Head to the Bannered Mare, in Whiterun, and look for Mallus Maccius. My only regret is letting Sabjorn get as far as he did with that bile he calls mead."

"I'm guessing Sabjorn runs some kind of brewery there?"

"Yes, Honningbrew, and one more time in case I wasn't clear: you butcher this job and you'll be sorry."

"I'll get it done."

"I know you will."

Sattilde nodded and then took her leave, heading back to the cistern. Brynjolf had not yet returned, so she headed to the living quarters to pack some clothes and supplies for her trip to Whiterun. Normally, she'd take the carriage, but she needed to save her money. She had been hoping to buy a young colt soon so as to save from spending her gold on carriage drivers. It would be a better investment, as she would be able to transport her stolen riches easier.

As she packed the last invisibility potion into her knapsack, she flopped on the bed and drifted off into a nap.

When Sattilde awoke, Brynjolf loomed over her, smiling. She looked up at him and then sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes.

"How long was I out?" she yawned.

Brynjolf snorted, "You were already out when I got here. That was a couple of hours ago. It's early evening now."

Sattilde got up and resumed packing for her trip, stuffing some invisibility elixirs into her knapsack. "Did you find out anything?" she asked.

His smile faded, "No, but they said they'd contact me if they come across any useful information." he stared at her deeply, as if lost in a trance. Sattilde turned her head to go back to packing, smiling as she did.

"What?" she asked.

Brynjolf opened his mouth, paused, closed his mouth again, but finally said, "You look… nice."

Sattilde felt her cheeks go hot, "Thanks, Bryn. Any reason for the unprompted compliment?"

Brynjolf shook his head, "Just thought you'd like ta hear it, lass."

Sattilde's heart sunk a little, "Well, thank you then." She then returned to her packing.

"I'll see you in the Flagon, aye?" he asked.

"Yes, once I'm done packing."

Brynjolf had barely noticed she was putting supplies into a bag, "Ah, you spoke to Maven, then?" he took a seat on the bed as Sattilde gathered up the food she packed and latched the satchel to her bag.

"Yes, she knows about Aringoth. She's been planning something in the background, something to do with Honningbrew Meadery in Whiterun." Sattilde placed the pack next to her bed along with a second small bag of food then sat next to Brynjolf on the bed.

"She didn't give me any other details, but I'm suspecting this has something to do with the meadery Maven owns. I figure she doesn't want any sort of competition."

"I wonder if she and Vex meet in secret."

Sattilde and Brynjolf laughed together. Brynjolf then grabbed Sattilde's knee and patted it a couple of times. This made Sattilde's stomach flip.

"Well, I'd like to have a little fun with you before you leave for Whiterun. Let's head over to the tavern and drink." Brynjolf stood and helped Sattilde up from the bed and they walked to the Flagon together. Sattilde was nervous; she had been to Whiterun before, but it was years ago. Most of her guild jobs were based in Riften and Windhelm. The other members took care of the jobs that required more distance. She couldn't even remember how long it took to get there.

"Brynjolf, how long does it take to get to Whiterun?" Sattilde asked.

"About a two days." Brynjolf glanced over, looking Sattilde up and down, but he didn't say anything more. He knew Sattilde quite well and if she had any more concerns, she would–

"I'm a bit worried."

"Hm? What's on your mind, lass?"

"I just haven't been to Whiterun since…"

"Since you came to Riften? The roads haven't changed in that time. There's not much to worry about, just the usual: wolves, bandits, and weather."

Sattilde nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. He was right after all. What could have possibly changed in the past 7 years?

Delvin slammed down a pint of mead, shouting profanities at Vipir who was jesting at his age. Vex carried a couple of mugs over to the round table where Sattilde and Brynjolf were seated. She had to bend over to set them down to minimize the spillage.

"Alright, Sattilde. Fists up." Brynjolf teased, nudging Sattilde with an elbow.

"Ha ha." Sattilde replied. "Vex knows I didn't do that job to shame her. I was just doing the job."

"Shame me?" Vex took a seat next to Brynjolf. "You'd have to try a lot harder than breaking into Goldenglow to bring shame to me." She distributed the mugs of alcohol amongst the group, taking a sip of her own.

"Brynjolf isn't going to let me leave unless you deal out some better insults, Vex." Sattilde took a big swig of mead. It had a sweeter flavor than most, made with the freshest honey at Goldenglow Estate, much better than the Honningbrew swill.

"Sorry, but I don't think I'm in an insulting type of mood currently, Bryn. My mind has been preoccupied." she didn't hesitate, "What's going to happen to the guild?" The chatter seemed to die down as if people were eavesdropping on their conversation.

Brynjolf waited for the conversations to start up again before replying, "I don't know. It seems to be getting worse every week. More members are leaving. Newer members don't stay long."

"It's like…" Vex started.

"It's like we're cursed." Brynjolf finished.

Sattilde hadn't been in the guild for as long as Vex and Bryn. She didn't know the guild had any other state but a declining one. She took another swig of mead, swishing it around in her mouth before swallowing.

"What do you mean?" Sattilde asked.

"The guild didn't used to be this way. It was prosperous before; the treasury overflowed with gold and jewels, the beds were full, the people of Riften feared the Thieves Guild many years ago." Brynjolf had already finished half of his mug, but took another drink,

"But now…"

"Now it's a disgrace." Vex spat.

"Vex."

"Bryn, you're one of the older members. You and I both know how it used to be. Compared to how it was 20 years ago, the Thieves Guild now is a joke."

Sattilde remembered stories from her mother who heard stories from her mother, and so on, about the Thieves Guild in the third era. How the very mention of the guild made guards scoff, made beggars sneer, made nobility tighten their locks. Most people were convinced the guild didn't even exist. No one had to pay off the guards back then; the Thieves Guild made everyone fear them with blackmail, theft, and lies.

"No… she's right, Bryn." She placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "I remember stories from my mother. People used to fear the Thieves Guild back then as much as they fear the Dark Brotherhood now."

Brynjolf and Vex sat silent for a bit, then Brynjolf threw back the last of his mead, "I don't know what we're going to do. For now, let's not focus on that. We've got jobs coming in, so we're going to do them and let people know about the Thieves Guild."

Sattilde and Vex nodded.

"Alright. I should head off to bed. If I'm gonna leave before first light, I need to get some sleep. I guess I'll see you both in five days." Sattilde tossed Vex a couple of gold coins her way for the mead, then waved Brynjolf good-bye as she headed to bed.


	2. The Road to Whiterun

**CHAPTER TWO: THE ROAD TO WHITERUN**

The crisp morning air nipped at Sattilde's nose, her fingertips felt as if they were being nibbled on by the wind, her hair blew violently in front of her face, brushing her cheek and slapping her forehead.

 _Great, a storm is approaching. Hopefully it'll blow over and miss me completely._ She stopped just past the sign that directed wanderers to their destinations. The fog made it hard to see past 100 yards and it was still mostly dark, but that isn't what made Sattilde anxious. It had been many years since she had taken this road out of Riften. The green leaves on the trees were turning yellow, some trees were already topped with orange afros, blowing in the wind. The cobblestone path curved to the left and then vanished into the deep grey fog.

Sattilde adjusted her knapsack, her food bags swaying beneath it by their latches. She took in a deep breath, looked back at Riften's city walls, exhaled, then set off. It felt as if she had forgotten to walk, as if she had forgotten how travel. The road started off easy though, and after a mile or two, she felt at ease.

Skyrim's beautiful landscape could put anyone at ease, especially at this time of the year. Leaves danced along the road, some of them playing leap frog until they landed in Lake Honrich. Lake Honrich was utilized by the fishermen of Riften. It was also an endpoint for the Treva River, which traveled southeast from Lake Geir, near Ivarstead. If Sattilde ever became lost, she knew she could follow this body of water to her destination.

Ivarstead was set at the foot of the Throat of the World, the highest mountain, in not just Skyrim, but all of Tamriel. It was a small community with fishermen and a lumbermill. Most people went on pilgrimages, climbing the 7,000 steps up the mountain, to find their inner peace. It was a surreal religious experience, or so Sattilde was told, as she had never climbed the mountain before. Just around the mountain's nortwest side, sat Whiterun. It was situated just past the White River, which flowed on the eastern side of the city, just at the foot of the mountain. It led north and turned east, eventually merging into the Darkwater River.

Sattilde knew she could follow the Darkwater River north from Lake Geir, but the path was much longer. She wouldn't be following that road; she would head west, through the mountain pass that hugged the Throat of the World's southwestern corner. It would undoubtedly be thick in snow, but the way was for the most part, safer, and quicker.

Sattilde was already past the Orc stronghold, Largashbur. These outposts usually guarded mines, dug into sides of the eart. They don't allow outsiders, but Sattilde had heard of them freely letting in other Orc kind. They weren't mean or violent, but no one else was allowed beyond their fortress doors, and they kept them well guarded to keep out curious adventurerers.

Sattilde followed the winding path, going right, where it waved to the river, then turned back to the left, leading over the hill that would eventually dip back down into the forests of Skyrim.

"We know who you really are." A Redguard man, dressed in an Alik'r robes, his head adorned with a keffiyeh. He had a comrade with him and they appeared to be questioning a Redguard woman, who looked like a simple farmer, from what Sattilde could see.

She ducked down as she passed.

"What are you talking about? You have the wrong person." The Redguard woman was becoming agitated as one of the men grabbed her arm.

"Wait. I think she's telling the truth. Look. She doesn't have the mark." one of the men said in a hushed voice.

"Sorry, apologies, miss."

"Next time you want to harass someone, make sure they're the right person first." The Redguard woman picked up her basket of flowers and headed down the hill to the mill.

Sattilde picked up her pace.

"Hey! You!"

Sattilde sighed and stopped.

The two men approached her, their robes flowing behind them with the long strides they took, "We're looking for a Redguard woman. Most likely not using her real name."

"I don't know any Redguard women." She lied. Tonilia was a Redguard, a fence for the guild.

"In all of Skyrim?"

"That's right." Sattilde made sure they knew they were bothering her.

"Well, if you happen to run into any, we'll be in Rorikstead. Meet us there if you want to help." The Redguard men scurried past her, disappearing beyond the hill.

Sattilde continued forward. Skyrim was not the only province in Tamriel. Tamriel was home to many races and many places. Hammerfell to the west, Elsweyr to the south, Morrowind to the east, and many more. Skyrim was situated in the north of Tamriel; a snowy home to the Nord people of Nirn. Hammerfell and High Rock, lied just beyond the Druadach Mountains to the west of Skyrim. Home to the Redguards and Bretons respectively. One a lush land of forests, the other an unforgiving desert. South of them were the Summerset Isles where the Altmer lived in a lush environment of pink and white cherry blossoms and crystal waters. Just south of Skyrim, in Cyrodiil, is where the Emperor of Tamriel ruled all the peoples. Its climate, the most diverse of the lands. South of Cyrodiil (and east of the Summerset Isles) is where Valenwood and Elsweyr neighbored each other, one a dense jungle for the Bosmer people, the other a flat landscape of plains for the Khajiit (cat-folk) of Tamriel. Continuing east, crossing the Topal Sea, is where the Argonians (lizard-folk) called the swampy waterways of Black Marsh their home. North of them is where Morrowind provided an unsafe safe haven for the Dunmer people, with the Red Mountain spewing lava and ash across the land. Then to the northwest, past the Velothi Mountains, the roads would lead back into Skyrim.

The land of Tamriel was quite diverse, often providing a variety of thoughts, ideas, and personalities. However, with the recent invasion of the Thalmor, the people of Tamriel were quite divided. In Skyrim, the Khajiit people were not allowed within the cities, for having the notorious reputation of being thieves. Dunmeri were seeking refuge from the Red Mountain's ash, which started spewing more violently since the Red Year in the 4th era, year 5. The province of Black Marsh was the first to secede from the Empire (and others soon followed suit) and invaded Morrowind, but for the most part, most have returned to their swamplands. Hammerfell had recently withdrew from the Empire as well after the White-Gold Concordat was signed.

People were no longer to freely worship Talos under this new treaty, so the Thalmor patrolled the cities, enforcing the law themselves. This left Skyrim in great divide, as most were devout worshippers of Tiber Septim (his Atmoran name being Talos). Most Nords saw this as an attack on their personal beliefs and culture; they started the Stormcloak rebellion, led by Ulfric Stormcloak. In order to settle the civil war, the Empire sent in the Imperial Legion to end the conflict. Sattilde, however, cared little for politics. When given the chance, she abstained from such conversations and discussions.

Unknowingly to anyone else but herself, she thought both sides were ignorant. Skyrim was powerless against the Thalmor without the Legion, and the Empire was weak for signing the treaty to appease the Aldmeri. She didn't firmly stand against one or the other; both had valid and invalid points. She didn't like the Thalmor though, and strongly disagreed with the Altmers' beliefs that they were a higher race. A higher race wouldn't attempt to make others bend to their will.

Sattilde's thoughts had brought her to the intersection, she turned left, and a few miles down the road, made a right at the 'T' in the road, where just up the hill, she could hear the lumber mill saw cutting logs, the waterfall just beyond it, and animals braying.

She had finally arrived in Ivarstead, the fog had lifted many hours ago and it was noon. Her feet were starting to ache a little, so she headed into the Vilemyr Inn.

"Welcome! Take a seat and I'll send someone over to take your order." A bald, shaven Nord stood smiling apathetically behind the counter.

Sattilde took a seat at the table in the dark corner of the inn, setting her pack beside her on the floor and opening her food satchel. A fair, brunette Nord woman rushed over, her apron dusted with flour and what appeared to be spilled mead.

"Would you care for an ale or maybe a slice of homemade shepherd's pie?" she asked.

Sattilde nodded, reaching into her pack for gold, "A tankard of ale would be great." she handed the woman ten gold pieces. "Chilled, please."

"Yes, ma'am." The Nord woman scurried off down some stairs behind the counter. Sattilde unwrapped some of the bread Vekel had made Sattilde for her trip. He was the bartender at the Ragged Flagon and a decent cook. Sattilde smiled at the parcel: Cyrodiilic cornbread. It was her favorite and Vekel seemed to remember. It was easy to forget how much the word 'family' meant to everyone in the guild.

She broke off a piece of the yellow, crumbly bread and popped it into her mouth. It melted away. It needed nothing. It was perfect.

The Nord woman returned with a mug of ale, a scoop of snow floating above the froth, "One chilled ale. Thank you for your patronage." she smiled then disappeared. Sattilde took a swig in her mouth; it was fresh and a fruity flavor lingered. With the bread, it was the perfect lunch.

Sattilde spent the next hour relaxing by the fire, taking in the smell of food cooking and bread baking in the back of the inn. She had migrated with her bag to an armchair closer to the fire and she hummed to herself as she enjoyed the atmosphere.

Just then, the inn door flung open, a gust of wind forced the fire to dance and flicker in the stone pit. It was a Stormcloak soldier and he was panting; he looked as if he had seen a ghost. His face was white and beads of sweat plopped to the floor as he hunched over. He slammed the door behind him and rushed over to the counter, asking for water. Sattilde was now sitting up in her chair, listening so hard, she gave herself a headache.

"W-wa... wa... water!" the soldier panted.

The innkeeper ran to the shelf and grabbed a mug, knocking over a couple as he rushed to the barrel of fresh water. He filled it from the tap and placed it in front of the man. The soldier tossed it back; he didn't even stop to catch his breath. After the water was downed, he slammed the empty mug on the counter.

"I'm sorry!" his breathing still hard. "I-I just... I just came from Riverwood." He paused and looked around the room, rushing over to an empty cauldron they had by a wash basin, and then vomited into it.

"My boy!" the innkeeper hurried to his side, slapping his back as the man emptied his stomach. "Are you okay?! What is going on?"

The soldier straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, "I just came from Helgen this morning." He took a seat in a nearby chair, hunched over the cauldron as he spoke. His breathing finally steadied, "The Legion, they had captured Ulfric Stormcloak yesterday morning. Transported us all the way to Helgen. That's when it happened."

By this time, a couple of patrons were hovering around him, the innkeeper and waitress included, all listening intently to the rebel's story.

"We were to be executed. It started off a low rumble, but it sounded odd. Something was making the noise. We weren't sure what. We saw it. It came from behind the mountains.

It was a dragon."

The inn gasped in unison, some whispers were exchanged, people looked at each other with terror behind their eyes.

"Yes, yes I know. It sounds crazy. But there it was. A dragon. Big. Black. Terrifying. Some of us survived, others were killed in the beast's flames."

"What happened?" a man asked.

"Is it still out there?" a woman asked.

"Yes. It's still out there. Last I saw, it was headed towards Whiterun."

The room gasped again.

"What are we going to do?!" a woman sounded as if she'd start crying.

"The bringer of the End Times?!"

The soldier nodded, "Just like in the legends."

"We need more protection!" the innkeeper demanded.

"That's why I stopped here, to let you know that the Jarl of Whiterun is sending a couple of guards to your aid. I'm on my way to Windhelm right now. I can't stay here for long as I'm sure the Legion is looking for those that escaped. I just couldn't have you in the dark, Wilhelm."

"Thank you, Ralof."

"Okay..." Ralof stood, picking the cauldron up, "I'll wash this out for you, but then I have to leave. Thank you for the water. Until we meet again." He nodded and Wilhelm grabbed his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Until we meet again." he agreed.

The room dispersed, most chatting with each other about the news they had just received, Ralof took his leave, and the innkeeper returned to the counter with a thousand yard stare. Sattilde grabbed her bag and stood, "Thank you for the ale. I should be heading out now." she spoke somewhat loudly to make sure he heard her. He didn't hear her though, which is what Sattilde wanted.

She knew he'd protest her leaving now. She slipped outside and returned to the 'T' in the road, making a right and following the cobblestones through the mountain pass.

 _A dragon? What if it flies overhead?_ Sattilde cowered up at the sky. _What if it sees me?_ Sattilde glanced around, looking for anything to use as cover: a tree, a bush, a cave. The trees were sparse though. I'll need to quicken my pace and get to Whiterun as quickly as possible.

Sattilde climbed the white path, laden with snow, following it as it rounded around cliffs and jagged rock tops. She scanned the clouds every minute, desperately hoping to see nothing more than blue sky. She kept her ears open, listening to anything that sounded like a low rumble as Ralof had described.

Then she heard it. A low rumble.

Then she felt it. A soft shaking in the ground.

She tossed her head to the skies, but saw the mountain trembling.

An avalanche!

She gripped her bag and pushed her feet into the snow, sprinting up the hillside. She was almost past the mountain; she could hear the snow crunching beneath her boots, then she heard the blanket of snow as it plunked to the earth. The impact caused a gust of wind which Sattilde tried to outrun, as well as a wave of snow chasing her up the road. Her pack's contents clattered and clanged against each other. As she reached the top of the hill, she lost her footing on the icy stones and her leg fell out from under her. She slipped, landing on her rear on the ground, and then sliding downhill as she just avoided the snow's grip behind her. She pushed her boots out in front of her and managed to catch it on a stone jutting out further than the others in the path, and stopped her bumpy ride down.

She paused for a second, allowing her racing mind to catch up to what just happened. She then stood and looked behind her. The top of the hill had a wall of snow hiding the path beneath, which spilled out on the road that led downhill.

She turned and saw a couple of Imperial legionnaires standing in the middle of the road, staring dumbfounded at what they had just witnessed.

"Heh..." Sattilde managed nervously. She thought they could hear her heart, it thudded violently in her chest.

"I'd say you just outran death." one of the men joked.

"I'd say you're right." Sattilde took a final look at the avalanche she just outran and wondered how she'd get back to Riften. Maybe it'll melt by the time I need to go back home.

She checked her bag, making sure none of her belongings were damaged: all was okay though and she latched it, then continued down the road, where she could see smoke rising up from beyond the trees. She was nearing Helgen and if Ralof told the truth, then it would lay in ruins from the dragon's destruction.

Passing the evergreens that lined the road on both sides, she approached wide open gates, and beyond them she could see flames waving in the dying wind. Ralof had not lied and Helgen was destroyed.

She entered the city; watchtowers had fallen, houses had burned, people had died or fled. The city lay in rubble. She passed through the city west. She saw the execution block, a couple of bodies lay, huddled into a burnt corpse, melted into the stone. She found the exit on the northern side of the city also lay open, smoke rose from the flames that speckled the city's buildings. She stoppeda at the gate and turned to look; she couldn't believe it. She had passed through the city a couple of times in her life, each time everyone was inviting and hospitable. Now it lay in ash and fire.

She felt her heart well up with a somber anguish. She needed to get to Whiterun though, so there was no point in staying. She took a final look at Helgen, wondering just how big the dragon was if it was able to knock over stone towers and burn entire houses to nothing but black frames.

She squeezed her pack straps and followed the road north, following the White River to Riverwood. It took about an hour to get there and the town was bustling with people.

"Dragon! I saw a dragon?" an old woman wagged a boney finger to the sky.

"What are you going on about now, Mother?" an annoyed man asked.

"It was big! And black! I saw it fly over the barrow!" she was talking very loudly. Sattilde could hear her before she even reached the town entrance.

"Mother! Not so loudly. The town thinks you're crazy enough as it is." He took her arm and led her into a house.

"I'm not crazy! I saw it with my own two eyes! It was a dragon!" the door shut and muffled conversation could be heard within. Sattilde passed through the lumbermill town, the blacksmith was sharpening blades, a boy laughed as his dog chased him through the streets.

No one seemed bothered by the old woman, so she continued on her way, following the road out of Riverwood and following the road north to Whiterun. When she passed by the first waterfall in the river, she stood out on the cliff that overlooked the hold. She could see Whiterun perched on the hill, tiny golden flags silently watched the horizon.

She breathed in the crisp afternoon air. She had finally arrived without so much as a scratch. But the news of the return of the dragons buried her excitement. She bounced down the road, the waterfalls from the river roared over all the other noises. The city majestically guarded the plains of the Whiterun hold. The grass had turned an ochre yellow, mixed with the dead brown grass; it was surprisingly easy on the eyes. It was a field of gold, butterflies fluttered across the grass, landing on mountain flowers for only a moment.

The road turned east and would eventually turn to the right. The guard bridge would hopefully be down, but with the rumors of dragons, she could only pray to Stendarr. She rounded the path, passing the stables, a couple of the horses snorted as she went by, and fortunately, the drawbridge was down. She passed under the bridge, rounding the path to the right and up, under another drawbridge, and toward the city's entrance.

A guard approached her, "Halt! City's closed with the dragons about. Official business only."

"I have news," Sattilde's mind raced, searching for some kind of news that would be important enough to allow her into the city. "of the dragon that attacked Helgen."

"Another one? Alright, I'll let you in, but we'll be keeping an eye on you." The guard unlocked the gate and pushed it open for Sattilde. The city was for the most part, quiet, with a few citizens walking the streets. Sattilde had almost forgotten why she was there in the first place, and then remembered. The Bannered Mare, from her memory, was near the alchemist. She headed straight, checking each building for their signs, until she came to the well of the city, surrounded by merchant stalls and a couple of buildings.

The alchemist shop she found to her right, the general merchant to its right, and the Bannered Mare to its left. She took the steps up and into the warm inn, where a bard played his lute and a couple of men sat at the bar sipping their alcohol.

"Sadia! Customer!" the innkeeper shouted.

A Redguad woman rushed over to Sattilde, wearing a puffy sleeved dress with a clean, white apron over it.

"Can I get you some mead or maybe some food?" She smiled.

"No, I'm looking for a man, Mallus." Sattilde continued to glance around the dining area.

"Ah! Yes, right this way." Sadia led her to the left, through a doorway, through their kitchen area. A fire spit was roasting some meats above a fire to the left and to the right were some cuts of meat, a bloodied table. Barrels and crates stacked in the corner with a shelf of wines and meads stood against the entryway wall. In the back of the room, sitting at a table, was Mallus Maccius. His skin was paler than snow and he had dark bags under his eyes. If he hadn't turned and looked at her, Sattilde would have thought he was a rotting corpse sitting at the table. Sadia pulled the chair out for Sattilde and then took her leave into the dining room. Mallus watched her leave and then turned his attention to Sattilde, his black hair was greasy as if he hadn't washed it in a week and his cheeks were gaunt from malnutrition.

Sattilde took a seat across from him and before she could even greet him, he started, "I'm going to keep this short 'cause we've got a lot to do. Honningbrew's owner, Sabjorn, is about to hold a tasting for Whiterun's Captain of the Guard, and we're going to poison the mead."

"Do you have the poison?"

"No, no. That's the beauty of the whole plan! Sabjorn is going to give it to us. The meadery has quite a pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don't mix well, if you know what I mean. You're going to happen by and lend poor Sabjorn a helping hand. He's going to give you the poison for the rats." He took a more serious tone to emphasize his next point, "You're going to put the rat poison in the nests, but also in the brewing vat. Maven and I spent weeks planning this. All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done."

Sattilde was confused, "Why bother poisoning the rats?"

Mallus's dry lips pulled back into a grin, "Once Sabjorn is out of the way, Maven has plans for the place. One way or another, we don't the pests coming back."

"And how do I get to the vats?"

"Both the brewery itself and the vats are connected by tunnels made by the rats. There's an entrance to it in the basement storeroom of the warehouse that used to be boarded over. I've removed the boards so the meadery would get infested. That's where you should start."

"Why can't I just break into the vat room?"

"Sabjorn keeps that locked up tight." Mallus shrugged, "If you can get through that way, go right ahead."

"I'm sensing you know Sabjorn somewhat well. So what's your place in this?"

Mallus furrowed, "I made the mistake of borrowing coin from Sabjorn. He's been allowing me to pay it back, but he's working my fingers to the bone! He treats me like a slave..." He looked down at his skeleton like hands, "I have to do every nasty job in he meadery." He looked back to Sattilde, "If this plan works, not only is my debt gone, but I'll be set up for life. Maven and I have worked out a little deal. If Sajborn ends up in jail, she's going to take over this meadery. And guess who gets to run the Black-Briar Meadery in Whiterun?"

"You?"

"Exactly. Now get going before Sabjorn grows a brain and hires some other stranger to do the dirty work!"

Sattilde jumped to her feet and exited the inn. She had actually passed the meadery on the way into town. It was on the left, across the road from Whiterun. She headed out, passing the stables once again, and at the end of the road, near the waterfall, sat the meadery. As Mallus said, there were two buildings that weren't connected. The one at the left was much smaller than the main building at the right. It didn't have any windows and was made mostly of stone. The one at the right had a few thin windows with Nordic abstract designs for the window panes. Mostly cross hatching inside circles stacked on top of each other within the window's skinny rectangular shape.

Sattilde glanced to her right down the road: nothing.

She glanced to the left at the intersection near the bridges: nothing.

She approached the building to the left and crouched down in front of the door. She opened her pack to a hidden pouch. It looked like just a rip in the lining of her bag, but when she untied the stitch, it revealed a hole between the bag's sturdy leather and the fabric lining of the bag. Inside, she had stowed away some keys to buildings and lockpicks.

Glancing behind her one more time, she pulled out a couple of lockpicks and went to work on the door's lock. Carefully, she bounced the tumblers, trying to get them to lock into the correct positions that would unlock the door. She glanced behind her again, but still no one was around; she worked quickly. She had become quite adept at picking locks since joining the guild. It was almost a second nature for her.

Finally, she heard the satisfying click of the final tumbler and the lock being released. She jiggled the doorknob and sure enough, it was open. She peaked inside where two large vats on long metal legs brewed mead. She shut the door and returned her lockpicks to her pack. She checked one last time at the road and had evidently finished her handiwork just as a guard was coming past the main building into sight. She nodded at him to seem inconspicuous, then headed inside the main building.


	3. I Can't Believe It! You're

**CHAPTER THREE: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! YOU'RE...**

Sattilde entered the meadery, greeted by a man cleaning his blade of blood, with two dead skeevers on the floor. She closed the door behind her, to let him know she had arrived. In front of her, a wooden counter stretched across the room with three stools for those that wanted to sample mead. Against the wall behind it were shelves of bottles of mead for tasting. At the left were several kegs to sample the different varieties available. At the right, where Sabjorn had just finished killing some of the aforementioned pests, she could see barrels upon barrels of mead ready to be transported to buyers across Skyrim.

Sabjorn turned at the sound of the door shutting, "What are you gawking at?"

Sattilde stepped forward a bit, "Is there a problem here?"

"Are you kidding?" Sabjorn sheathed his dagger, "Look at this place!" he spread his arms wide, putting his infested meadery on display for Sattilde. "I'm supposed to be hosting a tasting for the Captain of the Guard today. If he sees the meadery like this, I'll be ruined!"

"Maybe I could lend a hand." Sattilde motioned toward her dagger.

"Oh really? And I don't suppose you'd do this out of the goodness of your heart, would you?"

"You pay me or I'll yell 'skeever' to the whole town." Sattilde folded her arms.

"Whoa, wait." Sabjorn approached her, "No need to make any rash decisions. Here," he reached into a beige pouch strapped to his hip, "you'll get the other half when the job is done." He placed 50 gold coins in her hand.

"That's more like it. How would you like me to deal with the pests?" Sattilde smiled warmly at Sabjorn. She wanted him to feel as if he could trust her to complete the job to the fullest.

"I have some poison. I don't want any temporary solution. I need these vermin permanently erradicated or my reputation is completely destroyed." He grabbed a tall vial off the counter. "Pour this on the little buggers' nests and they'll be taken care of."

Sattilde thought it peculiar that he would have a vial of poison on the counter, but that must be why he has problems to start. She took the bottle and assured him the job would be done. He showed her to the doorway down into the storeroom where the skeever had sure enough dug their way through the walls.

Sabjorn returned to ready the meadery for the tasting that would be happening soon. Sattilde however, pressed on to the skeever sized hole in the wall. As she approached, keeping to the wall, she could hear them digging further. Skeever were notorious for carrying diseases and the last thing Sattilde wished for was Ataxia (which would make her hands unsteady and shake violently).

She saw a pink, mostly hairless tail flicking about from the hole, muffled squeaks came from within. Sattilde slowly, silently withdrew her dagger and crouched to the floor. Her calves and thighs were muscular from the many jobs and nights training in the guild. She crept closer, her boots not letting out a peep, her armor hugging her body, not a creak could be heard.

Just beyond the wooden planks is where the rats had made their nest and as she inched closer, she could see they had gathered hay that was used to cushion the barrels, for their beds. She adjusted her small blade, gripping it tighter to ready it for the impact it would make.

She was just behind it when she yanked it by the tail, pulling it from its work, and stabbing it multiple times in the chest. She had to act quick so it wouldn't fight back or bite her. As it lay bleeding on the floor, another emerged, hissing at her from the hole. Sattilde rapdily stood and backed away, to coax it from its hiding place. She readied her second dagger in her left hand as the skeever came bounding out.

Sattilde crossed her left arm, her dagger's blade pointing outward, across her chest and placed her right arm atop it, ready to swing outward at the rat. As it lept to bite her, she swung her right arm around and stabbed her left arm forward, slashing the rat across the mouth and then piercing its skull. It fell to the floor, dead on impact. She was quite skilled with blades as well; the guild had helped her hone many skills that had molded her into an excellent thief. She could stalk a noble in the night, not making a sound, pick their pocket, take their house key, and then raid their home without ever being seen. She could pick locks made by the best locksmiths in Skyrim. She could shoot a deer from 100 yards away and make a perfect bullseye. She was a shadow stalker, a hunter in the night, a thief in broad daylight. Sattilde was quite proud of this too.

She investigated the hole, but found no other intruders. She splashed some of the poison into the bed of hay and then returned to the door. She would have to sneak to the vat room without being seen by Sabjorn; she was sure he wouldn't leave her in the vat room unattended.

She peaked through the storeroom's door at the main area of the meadery. Sabjorn was hard at work, scrubbing mugs and the countertop. He seemed quite distracted for the moment, so Sattilde slipped out, shutting the door carefully. She crouched down to the floor again, hiding behind the barrels of mead. When Sabjorn turned his back to tend to the kegs, she crawled over them to the left of the building, where it was much darker and harder for him to notice her.

She squeezed behind the barrels of mead that were close to the wall, watching him through the spaces between each one. Sabjorn suddenly looked up and paused, as if listening for something. Sattilde lay flat on the ground, hay getting tangled in her black hair. She watched Sabjorn's feet from the floor as he returned behind the counter. She sat back up and saw him rinsing out mugs, then continued on to the back of the room where the wall that separated the entrance and the barrels of mead hid Sattilde from Sabjorn.

She approached one of the thin windows and Sattilde grimaced. They were quite skinny and she wasn't sure if she'd be able to sneak out of them. Nevertheless, she unlatched the window and opened it up. It creaked slightly-Sattilde ducked quickly behind the nearby crate of empty bottles. She waited a minute, but Sabjorn never came over, so she pushed the window open further until it was ajar enough for her to escape.

She took another look behind her, but Sabjorn's shadow was still poised behind the counter. Sattilde swung a long leg out of the window, turning sideways as she started to climb out. It was just wide enough for her to fit through and she cautiously gripped the building behind her, not wanting to disturb the open window any further; she pulled her left leg through, turning so both limbs dangled over the side of the meadery, then she leapt flawlessly to the ground about 3 feet below. She peered inside the window one last time, but Sabjorn never showed.

Sattilde found her way to the back of the meadery, where she peeked around the corner to the road, watching for the guard she had seen patrolling the area. She didn't see him, but leaned against the wall for a minute then peered out again. There he came, carrying a torch since it was late evening at this point, and the sun was setting. As he slowly strolled along, she scurried, low to the ground, to the vat building, pushing her back against the wall. She crept along, waiting until the guard was just out of sight before she rounded the corner of the building and quietly opened the door and slipped inside.

She shut the door behind her. It didn't matter if she was loud; it was just one room with a balcony rounding the room. She took out the vial of poison, and held it up to the light. She hadn't used much of it. The vats that she saw moments ago suddenly didn't look so large. They were no more than double the size of a regular barrel; even a tiny dose of the poison would be able to be tasted in a mug. At her left, fashioned into the wall, was a metal lever.

 _This must open the vat hatches._ She pulled it down and the vats' lids lifted open by thin chains attached to a mechanism that disappeared into the ceiling. Sattilde went up the stairs at the right, and followed the platform around that allowed the brewer to add ingredients. In each vat, she poured a little poison, making sure to add an even amount in each one as she didn't know which one he'd get mead from.

At that moment the door swung open. Sattilde backed away quickly into a dark corner, watching from the right side of the room, she could see Sabjorn carrying a couple of kegs. He filled both from one of the vats and after both were corked, he hauled them out, one after the other, as they were heavy with their newfound contents. After he shut the door and relocked it, Sattilde jumped lightly on top of the vat, making only a slight thump as she landed. She slid off the backside, in the darker area under the platform. Crawling over on all fours to the door, she put one of her sapphire blue eyes up to the keyhole and peeked out. She could see the front side of the vat room, but there was no one there.

She slowly opened the door, squeezing the doorknob tightly in her grip so as not to make a sound. She checked both ways before slinking out and returning the door to its closed position. She stood up, holding the poison vial by the neck with one hand, and cradling its punt in her other. She walked back to the main building's side as naturally as she could. She didn't see the guard anywhere, so she backed up to the open window, staring off down the road as if the patrolman would magically appear on the horizon.

She set the empty bottle in her bag; its neck stuck out from under the flap. She took off one strap and swung the bag to her front side as she climbed back in the window, carefully placing her feet up on the barrels below. She placed her pack on the ground and brought the window back into a closed position, locking the latch back, and then grabbing her bag off the floor.

She took a moment to pull the hay from her hair, pushing strands of it behind her ears just as it had been before. She dusted the cobwebs and dust from her armor, then withdrew the vial from her bag. She strided into the entryway where Sabjorn was setting up the kegs on a table.

"The job is done!" Sattilde announced, setting the empty bottle upon the counter.

"Well it's about time!" Sabjorn seemed impatient, even though it only took her a little under half an hour to finish the job. "The Captain will be here any minute."

"Where's the gold you promised?"

"Ah, yes. Here you go. I'm a man of my word." He handed her another 50 coins, which she tossed into her gold pouch. The door of the meadery opened and in stepped the Captain of the Guard, Commander Caius. His chainmail armor draped with golden cloth, to represent his station as a Whiterun guard.

"Hello, Sabjorn! I hope you've taken care of your little pest problem." He greeted, approaching the counter, being a full foot taller than Sabjorn, he was quite intimidating.

"Help yourself, milord." Sabjorn placed a hand on one of the kegs he had filled at the table. "It's my finest brew yet. I call it 'Honningbrew Reserve.' I think you'll find it quite pleasing to your palate." Sabjorn filled a mug with the golden mixture.

"Oh come now," Caius scoffed, "this is mead, not wine to be sipped and savored." He jerked the mug, spilling a few drops on the ground. He took a couple of gulps, which had Sattilde sweating. She was sure he'd be able to taste the poison before finishing the sample.

In that moment, he spat the beverage on the ground, "By the Eight!" He wiped his mouth and examined the mug, as if the ingredients of the mead were written on it, "What's... what's in this?!"

"I..." Sabjorn scratched his head, looking at the keg, "I don't know. What's wrong?" He glanced back and forth from the keg to the commander.

"You assured me this place was clean!" Caius shouted. "I'll see..." his voice sounded sickened, "see to it that you remain in irons for the rest of your days!" He drew his sword, covering his mouth with his wrist, as if to hold back vomit.

"No, please!" Sabjorn stretched his palms out in front of him, "I don't understand..." he glanced back at the keg."

"Silence! I should have known better... to trust this place after it's been riddled with filth."

"I beg you! Please!" Sabjorn cried, "This not what it seems!"

"Move! Now!" Caius walked behind Sabjorn, holding him by the back of his shirt. "You..." The commander acknowledged Mallus, who had been sitting at the table near the entrance. Sattilde startled a bit, as she hadn't noticed him there. "You're in charge of this place until I can sort this all out."

"Aye aye." Mallus saluted.

"Now move!" Caius ordered Sabjorn, giving him a shove.

"This is all just a huge misunderstanding!" Sabjorn cried as he was pushed out the door of the meadery.

"Farewell, Sabjorn." Mallus mocked from his seat. After the door shut, he rose and approached her. "Thanks for your help. I'll be sure to inform Maven of your success here."

"The guild is happy to help." Sattilde smiled, replacing both knapsack straps to her shoulders. She exited the meadery. The sun was just about to set beyond the horizon to the west when Sattilde heard a screeching roar overhead.

She barely had time to look up before a diamond shaped shadow covered her; she threw her head back, toward the sky, and caught a glimpse of something only seen in nightmares. The dragon was so low to the ground, Sattilde threw herself to the cobblestone, thinking it would snatch her up from where she stood.

His wings caused a gust of wind so strong, it picked up Sattilde's hair, throwing it back and forth. She turned her cheek, watching with only her eyes, watching as the beast struggled to keep his heavy body in flight, using his neck to pull his body forward across the sky. His spine covered in spikes like black daggers, his tail a slender spear, waving behind his body. Sattilde could see his eyes as clear as day; they were a bright, flourescent blue, searching, looking, hungry for something.

As quickly as he had appeared, he had zoomed past, flying beyond the watchtower a couple of miles down the road and then disappearing into the darkening sunlight. Sattilde sat up in the middle of the road, her mouth ajar, her heart didn't feel as if it was beating. She buried her face in her hands as the adrenaline subsided.

She wept; she wept harder than she did when she learned of her parents' fate. She had never felt a terror like this before, and the uncertainty that tossed in her chest caused her to weep more. She didn't know what to do: should she run home to Riften? Should she tell the Jarl that the dragon had been sighted nearby?

She looked to the sky again; paranoid, she thought she had heard the roar again. She knew what she needed to do. She picked herself up from the ground and started off in a sprint toward the city, passing the stables yet again, and rushing into the city. The streets were empty; the wooden houses, decorated with dragon adornments and scalloped roof tiles. The braziers of the city were lit, as were the streetlamps. She followed the gravel path back to the well of the town, and then to the left up the stone stairs.

The Gildergreen, a tree considered to be holy, branched out over the central plaza of town. A shallow moat of water, flowing down from Dragonsreach and emptying into the city's well, passed by down the gutters that followed the streets. At the right, up another wide flight of stairs, is where an upside down ship was home to the Companions, a group of warriors that helped the people of Skyrim. Sattilde however, ran past the tree, up more stairs, that climbed the hillside to the top where Dragonsreach watched over the city.

Sattilde crossed under the wooden archway which stretched across like a long dragon's spine to the doorway. Sattiled stomped across the wooden planks of the bridge to the large wooden doors that led to the Jarl's court. She flung the doors wide open, skipping steps as she approached the Jarl's throne, barely noticing the copper chandeliers dangling from the vaulted ceilings. Wide wooden planks held up the roof with arched wooden beams that kept them braced. At the top of the stairs, a firepit centered the room and on either side, long dining tables, could seat at least 20 people each. The tables were set for dinner and at the very back of the room, sat the Jarl, and above him, a dragon's skull, mounted to the wall. The room was dark, as it was now night outside, but the room was lit with sconces mounted to each of the support beams and pillars.

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater appeared to be discussing something with his bald, short steward, who sounded overly concerned, "My lord, please. You have to listen. I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these. If the news of Helgen is true..." he shrugged, "Well, there's no telling what that means!"

Balgruuf, dressed in fur, his hair a luxurious blond flowing to his shoulders, and a goatee to match, sat casually in his throne, a leg outstretched, his fingers decorated in rings and his head adorned with a golden crown, "What would you have me do, then? Nothing?" his accent was very Nordic, which Sattilde liked.

"My lord," the steward addressed again, "This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we..." The steward seemed to be repeating himself when a Dunmer woman approached Sattilde, her blade drawn.

"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not accepting visitors." Her hair was deep red, pulled back with a band, and her voice was gruff, intimidating. It caused Sattilde to take a step back.

"I... I have news of the dragon attack on Helgen." Sattilde stuttered nervously.

"That must be why the guards let you in. Well, c'mon then. I suppose you have more information than the Stormcloak that was here earlier."

"Who's this then?" Balgruuf asked his steward.

"My lord, she has news of the dragon attack on Helgen." the dark elf woman explained, replacing her blade to it's sheath.

"You saw this dragon with your own eyes?" Balgruuf now looked upon Sattilde, impatiently awaiting her response, he shifted in his seat.

"I wasn't at Helgen, but I passed through the city. It was in ruins. And just a moment ago, I saw a dragon fly overhead, heading west." Sattilde explained.

"By Ysmir! Irileth was right!" Balgruuf gasped, sitting up in his chair. "What do you say now, Proventus?" He turned to his bald steward who was robed in a royal blue attire. "Shall we continue to trust in the strength in our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My lord," the Dunmer interjected, "We should troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger; if that dragon is lurking in the moun-"

"We've already dispatched troops to Ivarstead! The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him!" Proventus argued.

"Enough!" the Jarl's voice boomed through the room, echoing into the rafters. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" He slammed a fist on the arm of his throne.

Proventus and Irileth shifted a bit.

"Yes, my Jarl." Irileth apologized and disappeared down the stairs of Dragonsreach.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties." Proventus bowed, backing away from the throne.

"That would be best." Balgruuf seethed. He turned back to Sattilde, his voice much calmer, "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service and I won't forget it. Take this as a token of my appreication."

He handed Sattilde a coin pouch, 150 gold pieces jingled inside. Sattilde grinned wildly; she had no idea how good of a pay being a messenger for the Jarl could be! She pushed the coin pouch into her bag.

"There is another thing you could do for me." The Jarl interrupted her glee. "My court wizard has been looking into a matter related to the dragons..." He seemed to be searching for her name.

"My name is Sattilde Wolfguard, sir, but... I'm sorry, my Jarl." Sattilde felt awkward addressing him in such a way, "I need to be heading back to Riften soon."

"Ah, I see." but he seemed agitated.

"I came to Whiterun for business, but I saw the dragon and thought you'd like to be informed. I must get back to my employer soon. I haven't eaten since noon nor slept since before dawn."

"No need to apologize." the agitation left his voice. "I can always hire someone to lend Farengar a helping hand."

"Farengar!" an echo came from behind. Sattilde turned to see who was shouting. "Farengar!"

It was Irileth, she was bounding up the steps, going to Sattilde's left, into a room where Farengar was running experiments. Jarl Balgruuf had risen from his seat, stepping down from the platform which raised his throne higher than the rest of the room. He rushed into the room with Irileth and Farengar.

"One of my men just told me a dragon's been sighted nearby!" She rushed in, barely out of breath.

"A dragon? Well, what was it doing? What did it look like? Is it still there?" Farengar sounded excited, not nervous.

Everyone followed Jarl Balgruuf back towards his throne. A guard suddenly appeared from the stairway. "If a dragon is attacking the watchtower, I'd take this a bit more seriously. People's lives are at risk." Irileth scolded Farengar like a younger sibling.

"Tell me what happened." Balgruuf said to the guard.

"We were at the western watchtower when the dragon attacked. It was big. Bigger than anything I've ever seen. It attacked the watchtower, that's when I ran. I never ran so fast in my life. I thought it would grab me for sure!" his voice shook as he explained.

"You did well, boy. Head down to the barracks for food and rest."

"Thank you, my lord." the guard disappeared out of Dragonsreach.

"Sattilde, I know you need to leave for Riften, but I would ask this favor of you."

"You want me to investigate the watchtower." Sattilde guessed.

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I would be forever grateful for your service."

As tired as Sattilde was, she didn't want to leave Whiterun without some help, and she was an excellent shot with a bow. "Okay, I'll help." she said after a long pause.

"Thank you. Go with Irileth and investigate the tower." Jarl Balgruuf instructed. Irileth and Sattilde hurried out of Dragonsreach.

"I've informed my men to muster near the main gate. You can go on ahead while I get them armored for whatever is at the tower."

Sattilde nodded and followed the same path she took into the city, back out to a night covered Whiterun. After passing under the second drawbridge, she turned to the right, where the watchtower could be seen even as far away as she was, because it was all aflame.

Sattilde jogged toward the tower, crouching down behind a rock as she examined the situation. The tower was perched on the left side of the road. The banners and flags that once decorated it, were now burning. The stone wall that once surrounded the ground around the tower lay in pieces. The wooden fortifications that protected the wall were also in flames, laying in piles of rubble.

Sattilde looked behind her, but didn't see Irileth. She decided to go ahead and seek out any survivors of the attack. She followed the road, passing by the crumbled wall closest to the path. The path that once led from the wall to the tower entrance, now sloped downward to the ground, creating a ramp up to the tower.

A man suddenly emerged from the safety of the tower, "No! Get back! Hroki and Torr just got grabbed!"

"What happened here?" Sattilde asked, scanning the sky quickly, but all she could see were stars dotting the sky.

"The dragon came by so quickly. It destroyed everything and then disappeared behind the mountains. It could be back any many minute!" The man backed into the tower. Sattilde raced up the tower stairs to the top; she could see the entire hold from the tower's height. She watched the mountains horizon, staring, waiting for any kind of movement beyond the black silhouette of the jagged rocks.

After a moment, she saw it emerge. It roared as it made its appearance, waving its body up and down as its height in the sky. It roared again, swooping down the side of the mountain that faced the watchtower.

Sattilde slowly grabbed her bow, which she had forgotten was even on her back. She readied an arrow between her fingers. It roared again as it quickly approached. Its voice shook Sattilde's very being. Sattilde lifted her bow and took aim. She knew she could aim for its soft underbelly, which would do very little against such a thick skinned, large beast, or she could go for a more strategic area.

She pulled back the bowstring, raising the bow upward. It roared once again until it was overhead and Sattilde let her arrow fly across the night sky, ripping through the dragon's wing. He hovered, he rocked back and forth, losing balance, then steadied himself. By the time he did, Sattilde had another arrow readied and shot again in the same wing. This time he screeched as he was losing air. The holes in his wing cost him his ability to fly; another arrow zipped through his wing, and after struggling, he eventually dove downward, crashing to the earth below, cratering through the road. Dirt and stone tossed from underneath the dragon's great weight.

Sattilde was watching from the top of the tower, leaning over the edge. The beast lifted himself with his wing claws, shaking his head from the dirt. Sattilde raced down the steps, almost slipping as she did. When she reached the entryway to the tower, she stopped, watching as the dragon turned to face his attackers.

He opened his mouth, but... Sattilde was certain she heard him speak, heard him enunciate some foreign language.

"Fo Krah Diin!" a stream of ice flowed from his jaws, coating the tower in slippery frozen ice.

"Did he just... shout?" the guard asked in amazement.

"I'm... I'm not sure." Sattilde had her hands against the edge of the entryway, leaned over for a better view. A dragon shouting somehow changed everything she knew about them. They were able to communicate in a way that was similar to humans, but could they also speak the human language? This was certainly a formiddable creature; Sattilde hadn't anticipated this, she certainly never remembered her parents mentioning shouting in all the legends they told her about dragons.

"Watch out!" the guard tackled Sattilde away from the door as a fire ball slammed against the front of the tower. He rolled off of her, standing up quickly, "I'm sorry." He stuck out a hand to help her up, which she gratefully took.

"No, thank you. You saved me." The dragon circled the tower, looking for a way inside or a weak point to knock it down, Sattilde was unsure. Up the road though, she could see Irileth and her men riding in on horses, equipped with blades and bows, they all swung off of their saddles and sprinted toward the tower.

"Alright men, we're not leaving until that dragon is no longer breathing! Archers, take to the skies! Swordsmen, onto what's left of the wall!" she ordered.

The archers equipped their arrows and the others climbed the wall's remains. Sattilde exited the tower, frantically waving at Irileth with both hands.

"Irileth!" she called, "Irileth, it can shout!"

"By the Gods..." Sattilde couldn't hear Irileth say this, but saw her lips move. "Men, if he targets you, for the love of Stendarr, don't stand there, move out of its way!" She ordered, readying a shock spell in her hands.

The dragon was downed though, which the archers soon realized, letting arrows fly, one after the other. The swordsmen held their blades, steadying their shields across their chest. The dragon, though, was looking for Sattilde and when he spotted her at the foot of the ramp, Sattilde was sure he was sprinting toward her on wing and claw.

"Move, girl!" Irileth ordered as she mustered her magicka and from her fingertips, strips of powerful, blinding lightning shot forth, paralyzing the giant lizard, just long enough for some of the guards to charge in and give him a few stabs. Sattilde readied a single arrow with her bow, and once Irileth's magicka was drained, she let her solo arrow fly, piercing the dragon just above his chest.

He shrieked at the pain, letting his tired wings go limp and falling to the ground. Sattilde saw this opportunity and returned her bow, retrieving her daggers from their sheaths. She climbed atop the dragon's head, using his horns to hoist herself up. He tiredly snapped and growled at her, but she had already scaled his head, perching herself just behind the base of his skull.

She hugged one of the horns as he shook, trying to free her from her grasp. Once he died down again, she went to work, hacking away at his skull until he gave in to death. When his heavy head fell to the dirt, Sattilde lept from her position, rolling away from the beast with her daggers in hand. She stood and turned to witness her accomplishment.

She had just killed a dragon; something that hadn't been done since Tiber Septim himself.

Irileth walked up behind her, "That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in and I've been in..." In that moment, something started to happen with the dragon's corpse. It flaked, chipped away; his scales seemed like little sparks of fire, fading away as they crackled in the air. Every particle of skin and organ flaked away, fading away into the air until nothing was left but a dragon skeleton. Inside the ribcage, an orb of magic, an orb of something, streamed away, streamed toward Sattilde, wrapping around her, circling her as she stood watching, and then entered her chest until all was gone.

The guards rushed over, grouping up around Sattilde, some had looks of astonishment, others had their mouths wide open.

"I can't believe it!" a bladesman said in bewilderment, "You're... Dragonborn!"

"Dragonborn?" Sattilde was a Nord by every right, but she never remembered her parents telling stories of something called "Dragonborn." She knew Tiber Septim was one, but she never knew what it meant. Her parents never elaborated upon it, and she never questioned it. She felt it was something she was just supposed to understand, as was the way with most Nord legends and traditions.

"What do you mean?" but this wasn't a legend, nor was it an Emperor that died many centuries ago.

"In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power." the guard explained. "That's what you did. You absorbed the dragon's power!"

"I... I don't know what happened to me." Sattilde looked down at her chest as if the magic might still be lingering, but she saw nothing and she didn't feel much different.

"Try to Shout!" another guard suggested. Shout? Shout what though? The guards had started bickering at this point.

"Dragonborn? What are you talking about?" one guard scoffed.

"According to the legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do." the first one said.

The way the dragons do... Sattilde remembered during the fight, the dragon shouted something. What was it? Ko? Ro?

"That's right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn!" a third guard chimed in, "Those born with the Dragon Blood in 'em. Like old Tiber Septim himself."

"I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons." the second mocked.

"There weren't any dragons then, idiot!" the first interrupted, "They're just coming back now for the first time in-"

"FO!" Sattilde shouted, a cloud of ice shot forth from her mouth; not as big as the dragon's, but it was a demonstration of things that were to come.

"You are Dragonborn. You can kill dragons and steal their power." The second one (who had once been mocking everyone's philosophies) gasped.

"Hmph." Irileth had been standing there silently with her hands on her hips. "Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about." The Nords were intently listening at what she had to say; Dunmer had a way of pondering things over before speaking their mind, and then when they did, most people listened to their wisdom. "Here's a dead dragon," she motioned to the skeleton, "and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them." she turned to Sattilde, "But I don't need some Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."

Sattilde couldn't tell if Irileth was complimenting her on killing the dragon or mocking her ability to Shout.

"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl. You ain't a Nord." the first guard said.

"I've been all across Tamriel," Irileth said. She didn't sound as if she were boasting though, but explaining, ableit rather intensely. "I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."

The men sort of nodded, not necessarily agreeing with her, but also not wanting to continue arguing with a Dunmer over Nord traditions.

"You should get to Whiterun," Irileth suggested. "The Jarl needs to know what happened here tonight."

At the Jarl's court, Sattilde found Balgruuf anxiously waiting in his throne. She approached exhausted form the battle, exhausted from her travels, exhausted from what she had just learned about herself.

"I presume the dragon has been vanquished?" Balgruuf smiled in hope.

Sattilde only nodded.

"Well, there must be more to it than that."

"When the dragon died, I..." Sattilde paused. Did the Jarl really need this information? She argued with herself, yes. Yes, he needed to know, and if she didn't tell him, someone else would. "I absorbed some kind of... power from it." she explained sheepishly.

Balgruuf sat quiet for a bit, mulling over the information he had been delivered. "Then you're... Dragonborn." he half whispered.

Sattilde only nodded.

"A Dragborn hasn't existed for centuries." Balgruuf put a curious hand to his chin, stroking his trimmed beard. "If were to suggest your next move, I'd say you should go see the Greybeards."

"The Greybeards?" Sattilde wasn't asking who they were, she knew who they were, but to travel that dangerous trek for something like this. "But why?"

"You're Dragonborn, no? They will train you, help you make your thu'um stronger." Balgruuf suddenly seemed to be remembering something far off in his past, "I envy you, you know. To climb the 7,000 Steps again..."

"I suppose you're right. Thank you for your counsel, Jarl." this time, addressing him felt more natural, and she turned to leave.

"Ah! Before you leave," Balgruuf raised his voice, "I'm promoting you to Thane of the Whiterun hold. You'll be assigned Lydia as your personal housecarl, and I'm permitting you to buy property, if you so desire." He gratuitously grinned. "You saved a lot of lives today, Sattilde."

Sattilde found it difficult to feel enthusiastic or joyous after what she had just witnessed, after what she had just discovered. She bowed to the Jarl though, to show her thanks, but the imminent doom that the dragons sought to bring clouded her mind. She wished she had never agreed to help the Jarl, then maybe she could have avoided this fate, at least for the time being, at least until she matured enough to be able to process it.

She took her leave of Dragonsreach, but a chippy young Nord greeted her outside the door, "I'm here to serve, my Thane." the woman bowed.

"You must be Lydia." Sattilde could feel the bags under her eyes growing heavier. "Listen, I'm not really looking for a companion right now. I need to get to Riften and before I can do that, I need to sleep."

Lydia seemed taken aback by the response she clearly wasn't expecting, "What would you have me do, my Thane?"

"My Thane", the words made Sattilde uneasy. She didn't want this newfound authority, "I don't know, Lydia!" she started to shout, but calmed herself. She was tired after all.

"Just stay here in Whiterun until I call upon you." Sattilde pushed past her, heading down through the city to the Bannered Mare. She could feel Lydia watching her the entire way down.

After renting a bed for the night, Sattilde lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling of her inn room. She needed to get to Riften, she needed to get some sleep, but this power that coursed through her kept her awake all night. She couldn't comprehend how she lived her whole life with this dormant power in her, and never once was given any sign that it existed. This dormant fate that rushed through her blood.

She turned on her side, tracing the grain of the wooden floor with her eyes, straining to see the lines in the darkness. Climbing the 7,000 Steps would be no easy task and she certainly wasn't prepared in supplies to make the journey either.

She flipped on her back again and felt a welling in her chest again; she was about to cry, but held back the tears. When she decided to train with daggers and bows, she was eager to learn. When she decided to move to Riften, that decision was easy. When she decided to join the Thieves Guild, she hadn't a doubt in her mind. She felt unsure about this task that had been placed upon her shoulders; no one asked her if she wanted this power, it was just given to her.

She placed her hands over her face and let out a soft groan of dismay. She wrestled with herself over the duty she needed to fulfill. The gods had given her this power for a reason and it was her duty to find out why. It was her responsibility to find out why. Gods don't just grant people with the abilities of a Dragonborn without reason after all.

With her fate decided, she placed her hands at her side and found herself drifting off into a restful slumber.


	4. I Will Come Back

**CHAPTER FOUR: I WILL COME BACK**

The road back to Riften seemed to drag on for what felt like a week. Sattilde's thoughts were preoccupied with what she would tell Brynjolf, and whether or not she should reveal her ability to use the thu'um.

She returned back home no later than the late evening as she had taken the journey very slowly. She had hoped to stay in Whiterun for a little while, maybe browse the market for new equipment or elixirs. She was disappointed that her time away from Riften only lasted two days. Sattilde found her way into the Bee and the Barb, back up the stairs where Maven would surely be awaiting her arrival.

When she turned the corner, she found Maven curiously scanning a letter in her hand. Her face scrunched into a very confused frown.

"I did as you asked." Sattilde interrupted Maven's deep thought.

"Ah, Sattilde, yes. Mallus told me you did the job and you did it well." She waved the letter in Sattilde's direction, "Mallus had this sent over by courier. It just arrived."

"What is it?" Sattilde stood up on her tippy toes a little as to look over the edge of the parchment and catch a glimpse of the words inside.

"It appears to be a promissory note." Maven handed the letter over to Sattilde.

 _Sabjorn,_  
 _Within the enclosed crate, you'll find the final payment. As we discussed, Honningbrew Meadery should now begin brewing mead at full production. In regards to your concerns about interference from Maven Black-Briar, I can assure you that I'll do everything in my power to keep her assets and her cronies at bay. This is the beginning of a long and successful future for both of us._

"This doesn't tell me much," Maven took a seat at the chair behind her against the wall,

"The only thing that could identify Sabjorn's partner is the odd little symbol at the top."

The odd dagger had appeared once more, "I've seen this symbol before." Sattilde handed the letter back to Maven.

"Well, whoever this mysterious marking represents, they'll regret starting a war with me." She reached into the deep pockets of her silk robe, revealing a hefty coin pouch. "I think you'll find this more than adequate for your services." Sattilde had to use both hands, the pouch was so large. 500 gold coins richer, Sattilde figured the job was well worth it after all, even if she didn't get to relax much.

"Thank you, Maven." She plopped the coins into her bag.

"I would take this information to your guild immediately. Now, shoo." she waved her hand, dismissing Sattilde from her presence.

Sattilde waited until she had exited the inn to reveal a pearly white smile spread across her face. Sometimes the jobs didn't pay as well, but whenever she had a job from Maven, it was always enough to buy a new set of daggers, or a few potions. She let out a satisfied sigh and almost skipped back to the Thieves Guild's secret entrance.

When she climbed down the ladder to the cistern, she found most of the members huddled together in the center of the room. All seemed to be discussing something interesting, heads turned back and forth between each other, acknowledging other ideas and viewpoints.

She approached the mass, "Hey..." she said in a soft voice, but no one heard her, "Hey." she said louder and a couple of members looked back at her.

"Welcome back, Sattilde!" Brynjolf waved from across the circle. "Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" Sattilde was thoroughly curious at this point.

"The rumor of the dragons!" Vipir the Fleet announced.

"They say the Dragonborn has returned!" Thrynn said.

"Yes, and they also said I sprouted wings and I'm able to fly." Vex clearly skeptical of the news put Sattilde at ease. Sattilde didn't understand why people had to make such a big fuss over this; it wasn't anything special, at least, to her, it shouldn't have been an ordeal.

"You don't believe anything though." Rune said.

"And for a very good reason too." Vex huffed.

"I heard the same thing from Wilhelm in Ivarstead." Elara chimed in.

"See? It's not just in Riften. The news has spread far and wide." Rune said, Thrynn, Vipir, and the others nodding along.

"That still doesn't make it true." Vex reminded them. "I could just as easily spread the rumor that I'm Tiber Septim reincarnate, but that doesn't make it so, even if it spread as far as Elsweyr."

There were some grumbles and then the group dispersed. Brynjolf waited until the others had left to approach Sattilde with a grin wider than Skyrim itself. "How was the trip?"

Sattilde pulled her lips to one side of her face, "Quite disappointing..."

"I'm sorry to hear that, lass. Whiterun is usually more inviting." Brynjolf seemed to share her disappointment.

"It wasn't Whiterun, it was just..." Sattilde stopped herself. She looked around at the members that were lingering around the cistern, reading, training, fixing equipment. This wouldn't be a good place to reveal her secret. She changed the subject in her mind, "It was just I found more interesting news from the meadery. That symbol showed up again, on a note to Sabjorn, talking about paying him for running the meadery."

Brynjolf's eyebrows came together as he tried to piece the information together in his head, "This is beyond coincidence then. Someone is trying to drive a wedge between Maven and the Guild. While you were away, Mercer thinks he found a way to identify this symbol."

They started over to Mercer's desk where he sat, thumbing through a text.

"I told him we should wait until you return to investigate it further, just in case. We don't want to waste Guild resources after all." They stopped right before they stepped onto the walkway, "Listen. I've never seen him this angry before, so... tread lightly, and don't waste his time."

Mercer looked up from his book, "Ah! There you are, Sattilde. Neither mine nor Brynjolf's contacts can identify the symbol found at Goldenglow Estate."

"The same symbol turned up at Honningbrew as well."

Mercer put two and two together, placing an index finger against his chin, "Then it would seem our adversary is attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven." then added under his breath, "Very clever..."

"You admire them?" Sattilde never found it easy to impress Mercer Frey, of all people.

"They're well-funded and they've been able to avoid identification for years. I'm impressed it reached this point. But don't mistake my admiration for complacency; our nemesis is going to pay dearly." he snarled.

"You've had run-ins with this anonymous buyer before?" Sattilde asked.

"Yes, and after all their posturing and planning, they've made a mistake. The parchment you recovered from Goldenglow mentioned a 'Gajul-Lei' and according to one of my sources, that's an old alias used by one of our contacts. His real name is Gulum-Ei. Slimy Argonian." he spat.

"And where can I find him?" Sattilde did as Brynjolf suggested and cut to the chase.

"He's our inside man at the East Empire Company in Solitude. I'm betting he acted as a go-between for the sale of Goldenglow and he can locate our mystery buyer. Get out there," Mercer pointed to the ladder, "shake him down, and see what you can come up with."

"I'll get it done." Sattilde assured.

"Good." Mercer returned to his book. Brynjolf and Sattilde crossed over the cistern to the living quarters. Neither one of them spoke; Sattilde's mind still clouded from the dragons, Brynjolf's clouded with the fate of the guild.

"Brynjolf-"  
"Sattilde-" they both started.

"Go ahead, lass." Brynjolf smiled as they both took a seat on one of the beds.

"No, you. I insist." She offered.

"I just..." Brynjolf rubbed the back of his head, "I don't know what's going to become of the guild. After our talk, before you left, it left me thinking about it. A couple of members have left again and..." he sighed and his voice cracked, "I don't want to see the family broken up."

Sattilde squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it would keep the tears at bay, "I don't either."  
She gazed out at the wide, square room, walls of dusty grey bricks. Beds of hay, lined the walls, all the way around the room, chests at the foot of each one to hold each thief's treasure. The room was well lit with sconces on each wall, flickering in the draft of the cistern. She couldn't bear the thought of them remaining empty forever.

"Whoever is doing this to the guild, I want to see them behind bars." Brynjolf said, "I want to frame them for the most infamous theft in Tamriel's history and see them rot." Brynjolf sounded angry; an emotion Sattilde rarely saw in him.

"Well, maybe just Skyrim. I think the largest theft in Tamriel should go to someone who deserves it." She joked, nudging Brynjolf as she did. His scowl took a minute to fade, but finally grinned back at her.

"You're right." Brynjolf sighed, then he laughed under his breath, "That person will probably be you."

At first, this flattered Sattilde, as she had improved greatly since joining the guild, but the feeling faded rather quickly. Her duty as Dragonborn would surely pull her away from her dream of being the best thief in the world (right after Vex, that is).

She sighed and looked at Brynjolf. She knew she could tell him anything. She could pour her heart out and he would listen to each word she had to say.

"Bryn..." She leaned over her thighs, rubbing her left hand with her right, "something happened in Whiterun."

Brynjolf shifted on the bed, becoming uneasy in anticipation, "Oh?"

"The dragon everyone is talking about..." she hesitated, "I saw it."

Brynjolf turned to her, "You saw it?" he didn't seem excited by the news, but concerned.

"Yes, it flew right over me. I thought it would grab me." She suddenly empathized with the guard who had come from the watchtower in Whiterun. "I, I couldn't just leave them, Bryn!" She gestured with her hands, as if the people of Whiterun were in the room. "I had to do something!"

Brynjolf nodded, waiting until she finished her tale.

"I told the Jarl and then..." it was the first time she described what happened, in detail, out loud. "A different dragon, a brown dragon. It attacked the watchtower outside of Whiterun. They wanted me to help kill it."

Brynjolf's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak.

"I know! I know!" She didn't allow him to say his piece, "But it turned out okay! Look!" she patted her body, "I'm alive. I'm okay!" She reassured him and he relaxed a little.

"When the dragon died..." she scanned the room, then got up and checked the doorway. No one was nearby, so she returned to her seat next to Brynjolf, "When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it."

Brynjolf jumped up from the bed at this, "You're-" he shouted.

"Shhh!" She jumped up, gesturing for him to lower his voice, then grabbing both of his arms, "Please, I don't want anyone else to know yet." She looked behind him, but still no one was there. "But yes... I am."

"By the Nine!" Brynjolf removed an arm from her grip and placed a sweaty hand on his forehead, a few strands of hair flowing between his fingers. "I... I need a moment to process this."

"You're telling me." Sattilde returned to the bed once again. She brought her legs to her chest and leaned against the wall. She crossed her arms over the top of her head, watching as Brynjolf paced in front of her.

He finally stopped and looked at her for a moment, "What are you going to do?" he asked.

"The Jarl suggested I take the 7,000 Steps to High Hrothgar. Speak with the Greybeards."  
Brynjolf stared at the floor for a minute and then slowly sat beside her again on the bed, "Right now isn't a good time for you to be running off and leaving your guild jobs unfinished."

Sattilde pushed her palms against her face, "I know." she groaned, muffled by her hands.

"Let's at least resolve this guild matter first, and then we can talk about..." he glanced at the doorway and in a hushed tone added, "this Dragonborn business."

"I agree."

They sat in silence for a bit and then Sattilde turned to him, "Bryn... you'll come with me, won't you?"

Brynjolf smiled, not showing any teeth, but his cheeks turned red and she could see he was genuinely glad she wanted him to join her.

"I wouldn't let you go on some big, life-altering adventure on your own, lass."

Sattilde returned the smile and flung her arms around the back of his neck, squeezing him close to her body, "Thank you."

Brynjolf placed his arms across her back, bringing her in closer to him.

Sattilde felt she hadn't slept much in the past three days, and here she was, setting off again, on an even longer path. She was replenishing the food in her bag when Brynjolf came in the room; his face was somber, clearly upset that she was leaving so soon.

"Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you, lass?" He pleaded.

"I'm sure, Bryn. This job will be easy."

He pursed his lips, "I know, but..."

She could tell he was worried for her safety. This journey would take longer and she knew that left more time for him to fear for her life. She walked over to the mentor who had watched her improve in the years, provided her with sound counsel, and sage advice. She placed a loving hand on his arm, which he in turn, grabbed with his right hand.

"Please... don't stay away for too long." He tried to smile, but instead started to tear up.

"I promise." She hugged him, tighter than she had the night before.

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep." he returned the hug. She could tell in his voice that he had started to cry.

"I'll be okay." She was unsure of this response. The road was much more dangerous than they had both previously assumed. "I'll be okay." She repeated, trying to will the words to truth. Then pried herself free from his embrace.

He remained holding her arms in his hands, "You come home." She saw the tears trickling down his cheek.

She nodded and then turned and grabbed her leather pack. She took in a long breath and then sighed, "I must be off then!" She weakly smiled. Brynjolf wiped his face and led her to the ladder leading out of the guild and pulled the lever for her. Before she climbed up, he grabbed her once more and placed a lingering kiss upon her cheek and she responded with a hand over the side of his face, wishing the moment wouldn't end.

"Return to me." he whispered. She nodded, and feeling a knot in her throat and her stomach twist, she climbed the ladder to Riften. After the tunnel shut, she let a few tears fall. She brushed them away quickly, sniffled a bit, and after a bracing puff of air, she set out the same way she had arrived.


	5. Scoundrel's Folly

The road started off similar the way it had a couple of days ago, without the Alik'r warriors, and with more wolves which were swiftly dealt with by Sattilde. She rested at Ivarstead once more and made it unharmed to Whiterun by the evening.

She rented the same room as before, but this time, the room felt bigger and the bed softer. With her full belly, she slept soundly. When morning shone through the tiny window, she rubbed her eyes and stretched, the fur blanket that draped across her shoulders sliding down onto the bed. She ran both hands through hair and tossed it a bit, brushing out any knots that formed during her slumber.

After dressing and having a morning cup of First Kiss tea (which was steeped with mint, ginseng, and honey), she returned her bag to her back, placing 10 gold coins upon the counter for the innkeeper's delicious brew.

There wasn't a cloud in the heavens and the wind gently brushed Sattilde's face. She didn't know why she had been so worried the day before; it had been a smooth journey thus far. She grabbed the straps of her bag and headed for the gate out of Whiterun. Already halfway to Solitude, for once, a city she had yet to visit. It was situated in northwestern Skyrim atop the Great Arch, a cliff overhanging the Karth River that eventually dumped into the Sea of Ghosts.

Solitude, even through the Great War remained as the capital of Skyrim, where High King Torygg and Queen Elisif ruled, until Ulfric defeated Torygg in combat a few days prior. Sattilde remembered the news of the king's death saddened her greatly, as it did with most of the population of Skyrim. However, Elisif, now widowed, appeared to be running the province smoothly since her husband's death. Sattilde could only assume she'd make a queen worthy of allegiance in the years to come.

She felt sympathy for Elisif though, to lose a husband so young, and to inherit a world of politics so young, and alone. She could only imagine the stress the young queen was going through in the Blue Palace.

Sattilde glanced over her shoulder; she was well past the watchtower, nearing the first bend in the road that would turn her path towards the northeast. The plains northwest of Whiterun were striped with creeks of water, flowing around the hot springs that dotted the landscape. Sattilde looked to her right as she trodded along and grinned at the sight.

It was so graceful, she stopped to admire a giant wielding a club the same size as her. A couple of chocolate brown mammoths (one with a calf) followed suit, trumpeting their furry trunks as their footsteps vibrated the earth. Sattilde gazed on and finally, not letting her eyes off of them, continued toward Solitude.

When Sattilde had finally scaled the hill and rounded another bend beyod some boulders, she jumped behind a nearby snowberry bush. Where clouds were once absent overhead, grey ones now swirled above a portal that reached up, kissing the sky with violet and gold rays. They intertwined, but never blended, forming a hollow pillar from a dragon burial ground below.

Above this burial site, hovered the Black Dragon, the one Sattilde had seen a couple of nights beforehand. She gasped, ducking down further under the bush. She could faintly hear the Black Dragon Shouting at the mound of dirt, but couldn't make out the words.

The Black Dragon swooped up to the sky, then circled back around, Shouting more magic at the mound again. Sand and clay burst from the mound, the sheer force knocked Sattilde backwards onto her back. She quickly sat up again and continued to watch as a bony claw revealed itself from within, pulling a dirt stained skeleton behind it from the grave.

The Black Dragon Shouted once more at the dragon skeleton that watched its savior in the sky; what was once a dragon's breath, turned to scales and skin that attached itself to the resurrected lizard. Blood and heartbeat blanketed the new dragon, giving it life; his eye sockets home to brand new sight, his ribcage home to new lungs.

The dragons spoke their language between each other, but Sattilde was much too far away to overhear their conversation. The Black Dragon tilted his head and Sattilde was certain he had spotted her, but if he did, he didn't acknowledge her, instead, flapping his great wings and soaring off down the plains to the east.

The new dragon stood on its hind legs, stretching its wings, flapping them a couple of times as a test of strength, and then, aligning his body parallel to the ground, he flapped them even harder and took off, following in the same direction as the Black Dragon.

Sattilde waited until he had disappeared beyond Whiterun before standing and scurrying down the road. It was noon and if she hurried, she could be at Rorikstead by early evening. As she almost ran down the road, she had so many unanswered questions, the main one being why the this dragon was raising others from the dead. For a split second, she wished she had let Brynjolf attend her on the journey. She shook the thought away, knowing that endangering both of their lives would be disasterous for the guild.

Her pace slowed as she began to tire, but her mind somehow wandered further than her legs could travel. She thought about the moment before her departure: that kiss. Her cheeks turned a warm red and she pushed the knuckles of her hand to the spot he had kissed. He had lingered, for what seemed an eternity. Return to me. That's what he had said.

She felt foolish smiling at her own thoughts, no one around to share in her amusement. She ran her fingers over her cheek, remembering how soft his lips and how prickly his chin had felt against her soft skin. She replayed his words in her head, repeating them over and over until she had finally reached Rorikstead.

It wasn't much to look at, just a tiny farming community with a couple of gardens and fenced in pasture for cattle. Two little girls skipped down toward Sattilde, passing her as they giggled together. It was early evening and Sattilde knew there would be no more stops until Dragon Bridge, which was miles away. She turned her attention to the wooden building, straw and wooden planks formed the roof, a rectangular porch barely able to keep the chairs set out on its planks, seemed to invite Sattilde's weary feet inward.

A chimney puffed smoke from the center of the roof, catching on the wind and fading into nothing. Sattilde approached the Frostfruit Inn, opening the door gingerly and when she heard no chatter, she entered, shutting the door behind her with no regard to the noise she would make. She wasn't greeted by anyone, so she set her bag down, once again, finding her way to the darkest corner of the room and pulling out her provisions she had packed.

Vekel had baked her a beef and beets pasty; its buttery crust flaked away as she tore off a bite to taste. It was crispy and melted in her mouth. He had outdone himself this time. She picked it up in both hands and bit down, pulling out meat and vegetables. Her mouth watered at the savory beef packed inside, mixed with the sweetness of the beets, each bite seemed better than the last, and pretty soon, it was completely gone.

She wiped her hands on her legs, dusting off any fallen crumbs. After gathering her bag, she approached the counter to a full bodied Nord, who had started to lose his hair. "A room, if you don't mind." Sattilde placed 5 golden Septims on the counter.

"It's 10 gold coins." Mralki folded his arms.

"Mralki, honestly?"

He stared at Sattilde, not budging.

"I'm just trying to get to Solitude before the week's end and you're here heckling me for gold." Sattilde leaned on the counter. "C'mon! Just this once." She begged.

Mralki was unmoved, stoically returning Sattilde's stare. Sattilde didn't give in either however, and finally, he let out and exasperated sigh. "Fine, Sattilde, but just this once. No more favors for you! Not after last time." He said and then added, "And I wasn't heckling you."

"It was a night to remember, and you can't deny that." Sattilde winked, but Mralki was unamused. She had, after all, gotten drunk, broken the dresser, and left empty wine bottles strewn about in her room. She didn't even bother cleaning up the mess.

"You're not allowed to buy alcohol from me." Mralki scolded.

"That's fair." Sattilde nodded. "Thank you for the room." She shut the door, not letting Mralki say another word. She tossed her bag into the armchair in the corner. There were no windows in this room of the inn, but it was no matter to Sattilde. There were plenty of candles that could be lit for light. On the back wall, an elk head which Sattilde hadn't seen before, was mounted above a dresser.

She walked over to the dresser and jiggled it. Mralki had apparently repaired the dresser after she had somehow managed to get a shard of glass stuck between the frame of the dresser and one of the drawers. She turned her attention to the closet next to the armchair. She flung the cabinet doors open and dug through the clothes hanging within, finding a couple of gold coins in the pockets. After she shut the closet, she wandered over to the bed and looked underneath.

No... too easy. She stood up and scratched her head. Then it came to her.

She turned and faced the elk head. She repositioned the armchair from the floor, placing it near the dresser, then climbed into the cushion of it. She lifted the heavy deer head from its mounts and behind it, found a small 4x4 inch square cut into the wall. Two holes were cut vertically on the left side, and one hole opposite on the right side had a thin piece of twine laced through it, tied in a knot so as it make it easy to open. She tugged on the twine and it swung open, held on by the thicker twine in the two holes that were tied to the wall. Inside, a leather pouch greeted her, plump with gold coins.

Sattilde carefully cradled the pouch in her hand, lifting it from its hiding spot and then eased herself down out of the chair. She found her bag and shook it a bit, so it sounded as if she were rummaging through her supplies, as she tossed in the gold.

Once she had closed the little square door and replaced all the furniture, she lay in bed, feeling somewhat unfulfilled. Most amateur thieves wouldn't have even been able to get the elk head down without making a terrible racket and getting caught; she didn't understand why she felt as if she hadn't accomplished much.

She draped an arm across her chest. Maybe the Jarl was right and she should go to High Hrothgar. Maybe her destiny lied with fulfilling her duty as Dragonborn after all. She thought back to the agreement she made with Brynjolf, however, and how she told him she'd stay with the guild until the buyer they were after had been stopped. This put her restless mind at ease, so she turned on her side and found herself enjoying a peaceful sleep.

The day started off well enough: a hearty breakfast of meat and fruit from Mralki and a shot of goat's milk. Sattilde paid him and was back on the road before the late morning sun. She hadn't much further to travel as she would be there by the end of the day. Her legs were starting to ache and her feet were pulsing with aches, but she was almost there.

Around the bend, Sattilde spotted a hillside to her right. She had never been to Skyrim's great capital before and scaled the grassy hillside that rose far above Rorikstead. She could see Solitude, far on the horizon, the Sea of Ghosts sparkling against the bright sun's rays.

As she was enjoying the view, an arrow zipped by, so close to her head that felt the light touch of the feathers attached to it against her cheek. She spun her shoulder to the right, turning as the arrow collided with a rock and then bounced to the ground. She peered over the hillside's edge where a dropoff met up with the road, below, she saw a couple of men pointing arrows up to the sky. She threw herself backwards, avoiding their shots just in time.

"Bandits." she said aloud. Sattilde army crawled down the opposite end of the hill and when she was sure she would be out of sight, she stood and leaped over a rock, falling flat on her stomach as she did, holding her breath as she listened for the imminent footsteps that would be searching for her.

"Where'd she go?" one of the men shouted.

"Shut up! Do you want her to hear you?" this hushed voice sounded clearly Khajiit.

Sattilde rolled onto her back and withdrew a dagger. She looked to her left: more boulders were spread through the grass. She looked to right right where the hill sloped back down to the road; there wasn't a place to hide on that side. Sattilde gradually let out her breath, calming herself before she made her bold decision.

Gripping her dagger tightly so she wouldn't drop it, she pushed herself up from the ground and then with her feet, launched herself forward, rolling toward the safety of the rocks.

"There she is!" The Khajiit cried to his comrade. Arrows plinked against the rock she had chosen for her safety.

"Get her!" the other bandit cried.

She could feel their feet in the earth, pounding toward her in a sprint. She glanced at her dagger and waited. She readied herself, and when she heard they were just a couple of feet beyond the rock, she scaled it in one swift movement, just enough to see their position. She took her dagger, making the risky choice of throwing it like a knife at the man.

Her aim was perfect and it stuck in the man's stomach. He doubled over with a painful cry, hovering his hands over his wound. The Khajiit turned back for the slightest second and that's when Sattilde pulled herself on the top of the rock and pounced on the Khajiit. As he squirmed between her powerful legs, she held him down with her arm, grabbing her second dagger and finishing him.

The Breton still hollering in agony, she walked over to him with her bloodied dagger and cut him down, removing her first knife from his side and after wiping the blood on his corpse, replaced them at her sides and then started downhill on the path again. Highwaymen weren't uncommon in Skyrim, and on more than one occassion Sattilde had dealt with them. Most were after unsuspecting travelers' gold, but there were some who had, in their own twisted thinking, claimed certain territories such as roads or outposts.

None of them were as ruthless as the Forsworn though; natives of the Reach, Sattilde had only run into them once before, and never wished to again. All of their weapons were barbed with animal bones, they were pelts of wolves for armor, deer antlers as headdresses. They claimed they owned the Reach, the land near Markarth in the southeast, and had camps spreading out from the hold. They were technically a political movement, not just a ragtag group of bandits.

The year Sattilde was born, Ulfric drove them out of the city of Markarth using his Voice, in an attempt to allow the people to secretly worship Talos. Their leader was captured and held in Cidhna Mine (the prison of Markarth) to as leverage for control over the Forsworn. The Thalmor however, learned of the worship of Talos, and demanded Ulfric Stormcloak's arrest, but Jarl Igmund allowed him to leave. The Markarth Incident, as it soon became known as, was just a spark that ignited the Stormcloak Rebellion.

Sattilde grew up in the civil war; she had known nothing but Imperials and Stormcloaks and Thalmor. Her parents however, reminded her that there was a time of peace before the fighting. When the Nords used to be a united front, but, the rebellion caused a rift, turning sons against fathers, mothers against daughters, brothers against sisters. The war seemed pointless to Sattilde. She knew why it had started. She knew why the Empire drew up the treaty, she knew why Ulfric started the rebellion, but what she didn't understand is why they didn't join forces and wipe the Thalmor out.

As far as Sattilde could see, the Stormcloaks were, albeit inexperienced, but skilled band of warriors. The divide that had been caused always seemed to have a common denominator and it was the Thalmor. Nords were stubborn though, and whenever they had been spoonfed an ideology by a charming and convincing leader such as Ulfric, it was hard to change their thinking. It would take something monumental to bring Skyrim back together.

Sattilde had crossed through the stream that would eventually connect to the Karth river, further north. Sattilde saw the bandit camp just beyond the bridge, and had to choose between getting her armor a little wet or getting attacked, so she chose the former. By the time she had neared Dragon Bridge, her clothes were just damp, and by the time she finished her lunch at the inn, her clothes were completely dry. She only had a couple of miles left before she would reach the city, and wasted no time getting there either.

Beyond the slope, peering out from behind a couple of evergreens, Sattilde could see the fortified walls of the city. The stables down below, nestled on the cliffside, in the east. She had almost made it; a new city, unfamiliar territory. She braced herself as she went down a long slope and then made her climb up the steep road that led to the city gates.

Wine red banners displayed a symmetrical wolf face in front of a shield, the symbol of the city. Much like the profile of the horse represented Whiterun and crossed daggers represented Riften. She had finally reached the entrance at early evening, and waited for the guards above to open the doors.

"Gate!" she heard and the doors peeled back, revealing a crowd massed together in front of her. The white bricks that made up the streets of Solitude led in between the shops of the marketplace. Most had stone foundations and concrete walls, braced with wood and hanging moss. The roofs were much different from Whiterun, as most buildings had deep mahogany roof, with square shingles, sloping for the downpour of rain. Stretching above the street, latched to the sides of the shops, were triangle banners, colored red, blue, and yellow, gently bouncing in the breeze. A cluster of flowers divided the street in the middle, and then reformed again, leading away, past some market stalls under a guard bridge of stone.

Beyond that is where the homes of the people stood side by side, forming a lane, which if followed to the right, led to the Blue Palace where Jarl and Queen Elisif sat upon her throne, but if followed to the left, one would be directed to the temple and Castle Dour. Following through the courtyard, one would end up above the main street, at the blacksmith's forge, and then after following the zig zag slope down, would end up back at the beginning under the colorful banners.

Sattilde, however, was much more distracted with the crowd, facing the eastern side of the city, where a stone terrace jutted out from the wall. Staged on the platform were two guards, one holding a Nord in burlap cloth, his hands shackled together, by the arm. The other guarding the steps so no one could reach them.

"King killer!" a woman shouted from the crowd.

"Traitor!" a man booed.

Sattilde found her way into the mass, squeezing through for a better view. They had an execution block set on the stage, and that's when she noticed the headsman with his sharpened steel axe, resembling something of death in his black hood.

"Papa!" Sattilde heard a gentle voice behind her, a little girl. "They can't hurt Uncle Roggvir. Tell them he didn't do it!"

The man she was tugging at didn't have time to answer when a witchy old lady interrupted with coldness in her voice, "You should tell her that her uncle is a traitor who murdered the High King. Best she know the truth, Addvar."

"You're all heart, Vivienne." Addvar replied with equal judgement.

"Roggvir," there was a fourth man, at the left of Roggvir, who Sattilde had just noticed above the heads of the people in front of her. His face donned a thick black beard, his eyes and forehead wearing many years of war, and his arms bulging; Sattilde wagered he was a two-handed weapon man. "You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg. By opening that gate for Ulfric, you betrayed the people of Solitude!" Captain Aldis's voice boomed through the crowd.

Roggvir looked out to the people awaiting his death, "There was no murder!"

"He doesn't deserve to speak!" a man shouted.

Roggvir continued, "Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat!"

The people erupted with, "Boooooo!"

"Cut em down!" Vivienne demanded.

"Guard. Prepare the prisoner." Sattilde almost couldn't hear this order the crowd was in such an uproar over Roggvir's speech.

"I don't need your help." Roggvir snarled, kneeling behind the block.

"Very well, Roggvir." Aldis sounded despondent. Sattilde could tell he knew Roggvir personally. "Bow your head." he almost sounded as if it were a suggestion rather than an order.

The executioner approached the block where Roggvir's neck was in perfect positioning for the cut.

The crowd had died down some, watching with scowls and turned up noses.

"On this day," Roggvir said softly, "I go to Sovngarde..."

The headsman lifted the hefty axe far above his head and Sattilde followed it as it fell, she could hear the whoosh of the wind against the blade, and then the crack of Roggvir's head being severed from his body. Blood spattered and his head landed into a broken crate. Some of the crowd has shielded their eyes, others like Vivienne continued to stare, as if to be sure he was really dead.

After the executioner returned to his position, the citizens returned to their everyday life, most not giving the execution another thought. Sattilde turned, facing the boulevard between the shops as most people headed home. Even though she was a Nord, sometimes she didn't understand the Nord ways. They loved so passionately, it would overflow, but they could burn with a hatred so intense too. There was no luke warm with them.

Sattilde found her way to the building closes to the entry, the Winking Skeever, an inn and tavern. That's where she was to meet Gulum-Ei the Argonian. She entered upon a dark room, an oven to the right, a centerpoint for the entire dining room. Square tables and wooden chairs surrounding the warm flame as bread baked over it's firewood. Straight ahead, a man was wiping the counter of food droppings, he smiled briefly and invited her in, "Welcome! Take a seat by the fire or maybe you'd like a room?"

"I'll find my way, thanks." Sattilde smiled back to let him know his offers were appreciated. At the left, in a recessed wall, an Argonian was sipping out of a pewter mug, wearing a cotton shirt and ragged breeches. His boots pulled up to his calves and his tail wrapped around the back leg of the chair. He took notice of Sattilde immediately and set his mug down.

"Gulum-Ei, is it?" Sattilde pulled out a chair and sat in front of the lizard. His scales the color of cooked spinach and his eyes widely set on his head, a piercing hawk eye yellow. He flicked his tongue as she took her place in the chair.

"Go away." he hissed. "I don't like strangers and I have no business with you."

"That's where you're wrong." Sattilde pulled her seat closer to him.

"Hmm." He sniffed the air. "By your scent, I'd say you were from the Guild." He looked up in a fake ponder, "But that can't be true because I told Mercer I wouldn't deal with them anymore." He seemed to be talking to himself.

"Quit the games, Gulum-Ei. Tell me what you know about the sale of Goldenglow." She demanded.

Gulum-Ei looked back at Sattilde, squinting with annoyance, "I don't deal in land or property." He took a swig from his mug, "Now," he swallowed, "If you're looking for goods, you've come to the right person."

"Oh really, Gujul-Lei?"

His eyes sparked, "Oh, wait... did you say Goldenglow Estate? My apologies." he set his mug back down, "I'm sorry to say I know very little about that..." He flicked his tongue.

"Quit the act, Gulum. I read the bill of sale. You acted as a broker for its new owner." Sattilde had him cornered and yet he refused to give up any information. Whoever was involved must be paying him a hefty sum to keep his lips sealed this tight.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. I can't expect to remember every deal I handle." He shrugged.

"If you identify the buyer, I'm sure the guild can work out a better deal, and we'll even forget what we know about this unfortunate... misunderstanding."

"Your guild is dying. You don't have the gold to match." He took another swig and then broke off a chunk of bread from his plate, tossing it into his mouth. Frustrated, Sattilde resorted to threatening the only thing the lizard really cared about:

"Talk, Argonian, or I'll slit your throat."

Gulum cracked a laugh, "You're in the Thieves Guild and that would be explicity against their code."

Sattilde had him, she smirked, "Yes, but the Dark Brother hood is a different story." she nonchalantly traced the wood grain on the table.

Gulum-Ei sat for a minute, considering his options and finally said, "All right, all right, had I known the deal would bring me this much trouble, I never would have accepted the gold." He leaned in close, whispering, "I was approached by a woman who wanted me to act as the broker for something big." he paused as a Nord walked by to the counter, then continued, "She flashed a bag of gold in my face and said all I had to do was pay Aringoth for the estate."

He leaned back in his chair, still speaking lowly, but more audible, "I brought him the coin and walked away with her copy of the deed." He chugged his mead, wiping his slick scales of the liquid.

"Any idea as to why?"

"Not at all!" Gulum-Ei raised his hands, "I tend not to ask too many questions when I'm on the job. I'm sure you understand." Sattilde knew in that moment he was lying and glanced a couple of daggers his way, "However!" he had noticed her glare, "She seemed quite angry, and it was being directed at Mercer Frey."

"Did she give you her name?" Sattilde was so close. If he released her name, she could go back home.

"In this business," Here he went again, another lie. "We rarely deal in names; our identity comes from how much coin we carry."

"I've been in the same business as you, Gulum, for years. Give me her name or I'll call Sithis to take you." she growled in a low voice.

"Look, that's all I know. I never promised you I'd have all the answers." He grabbed the bread and stuffed it in his pocket, "Now, since our transaction is done." he walked over to the innkeepr, tossing a few gold coins onto the counter and then turning back to Sattilde, "I'll be on my way."

Sattilde waited until he had shut the door of the inn before looking behind her; no one was watching, so she stood and opened the door. Gulum-Ei was headed outside the city.

"Gate!" the guard called.

She slipped outside the inn, following close against the wall, and after he passed beyond the city wall's, she crouched, quickly slipping through the door just as it was closing. She slid across the door front, hiding under the doorframe, in the shadow. The sun was setting, so it would be harder for Gulum to see her. She watched him start in a sprint downhill, glancing over his shoulder as he went, but he didn't see her.

Once he reached the bottom, she followed close by as he passed the stables and followed the curving path down to the docks. Sattilde watched from behind the horse stables on the right of the path. He danced down the steps to the ships that wavered in the saltwater. She saw him reach the port and then after another glance upward toward the stables, he turned left, disappearing beneath the cliffside.

Sattilde rushed down, following his path and then when reaching the waters below, she leaned over the path, and saw Gulum enter a door beneath the city. There were guards pacing up and down the water walkway. Sattilde figured it must be the East Empire Company, the merchant organization that controlled a multitude of imports and exports throughout Tamriel. She saw a sign, bolted into the rock wall that read "East Empire Company Warehouse."

That's odd... I thought pickings were slim, according to Gulum-Ei. One of the guards started toward her, a key jangled from a ring strapped to his waist. The knot that tied it was loose and could easily be pulled away. She walked up to one of the open storehouses used for loading cargo and leaned against the frame of it. She waited until he had passed, nodding at the suspicion in his eyes.

She pretended to have dropped something and as he continued by her, she went to pick up the invisible object, she gingerly, with her gloved index and thumb, pulled on the string. It came loose and with her outstretched hand, she caught the falling key before it hit the planks below.

"Ah, found it." she couldn't contain herself; it was her most clever move yet. She pretended to pick up her dropped posession and waited until the second guard had preoccupied himself in the storehouse. Then she slipped inside the warehouse, keeping the key for any future endeavors she might have at the Company.

"Wow... amazing." she whispered to herself. The warehouse had been hollowed out beneath the precipice, water had flown in, most likely during the excavation, but a pier had been built above it, wrapping around the perimeter of the cavern. Lined with shelves of barrels, crates, foods, weapons, and so, so many more items that were ripe for the taking. It was gold mine to a thief's eye; so many valuables, all in one central location. Sattilde had to resist every fiber in her being to not fill her pack to the brim with stolen commodities. At the far end of the warehouse, she spotted Gulum, still glancing over his shoulder, but had slowed his pace. Guards were patrolling the merchandise, wielding torches.

Sattilde stayed close the door, moving closer to the ledge into the darker area, as she surveilled Gulum making his way to the other side of the room. He disappeared behind a shelf of kegs. Sattilde squinted, and saw what looked like a door opening and then shutting. He didn't reappear, so Sattilde knew she had to get on the other side of the water.

Sattilde decided the safer route was to swim across, but she would have to leave her pack behind. No, that wouldn't do, she would have to go around somehow, but she couldn't risk being seen. She examined her options, eyeing the shelves of goods.

She looked past them; a guard was coming. She had to act. She scrambled up the shelf, putting her at least 10 feet above the guard's head. He would have to look up to notice her perch. She followed the maze of shelves, squeezing between barrels, crawling over crates, and almost knocking over a tower of cheese wheels, which she grabbed hold of before it tumbled off the shelf.

She walked some thin lumber planks to the next set of shelves, now on the opposite side of the room from the door, she continued to follow it until she reached the barrels where Gulum-Ei's secret door beckoned Sattilde.

Another patrollman was walking from Sattilde, lighting the path as he went; Sattilde figured she could stay close to him and he'd never see her. She crept out of hiding, following so close to the guard that if he made a sudden stop, she would bump into him. As soon as he passed the doorway, she broke away from the trail and entered the secret room.

"You!" Gulum-Ei gasped, standing in the middle of a cavern, surrounded by chests of treasures, golden statuettes, ingots of gold and silver. "Now," he used a calming voice, pushing his hands out in front of him, "there's no need to do anything rash... this isn't as bad as it seems."

"You told Mercer there wasn't much gold to be made with the East Empire Company." Sattilde raised an eyebrow, keeping a steady hand on her dagger for safety.

"I was going to tell Mercer about everything, honestly!" he collapsed to his knees, shaking his clasped hands at Sattilde, "Please! He'll have me killed!"

Sattilde sighed her aggravation away, "Give me the information I know you have and I won't tell Mercer anything."

"Yes, thank you! The name of the person you want is Karliah." he said with a shakey voice.

"You say that name like I should know it..."

Gulum-Ei returned to his feet with a puzzled face, "Mercer never told you about her?"

Sattilde started to shake her head, but then remembered, that bit of information when she first joined, about Gallus, about his murder.

"Karliah is the thief responsible for murdering the previous guildmaster. Now she's after Mercer!"

Sattilde couldn't believe Gulum's betrayal, "Then why did you help her?!"

"Help...? No, no!" he shook his head, "Look, I didn't even know it was her until after she contacted me. Please, you have to believe me!"

"Okay, okay. Just calm down." Sattilde thought for a moment, "Where is Karliah now?"

"I don't know." Gulum shook his head, "When I asked her where she was going, she just muttered 'Where the end began.'"

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know! Honest! Here," He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a crisp, folded piece of parchment. "take the Goldenglow Estate deed as proof."

Sattilde quickly read the insides and confirmed it was indeed the bill of sale for the estate. She tucked it away into her own pocket.

"Remember, tell Mercer I'm worth more alive!" Gulum-Ei called as Sattilde pushed by him up a ladder that led to the surface, outside of the warehouse. She had returned to the road, just a bit beyond the stairs down to the pier. She climbed out and shut the trap door, replacing the debris over the lid. She found her way back into the city, trying to make sense of what "Where the end began" could mean.

The second time she entered the Winking Skeever, she agreed to the only bed available, costing her 45 gold, but in that moment, she didn't feel like bargaining the price. She needed some sleep and she needed to get back to the guild. She arrived at her bedroom; quite spacious compared to her last sleeping places. A full bed was pushed against the back wall, to the right of it, a window that would let in the rising sun's light. There was a futon and coffee table basking in the moonlight against the wall. A shelved partition was placed in the middle of the wall, separating a dining area and the futon. A quaint wardrobe decorated the wall nearest the entryway at her right, topped with sprigs of lavender in a porcelain vase.

She entered the fragrant bedroom and shut the door behind her. She put her bag down on the futon and gazed out the second story window, watching as people blew out the candles of their shops to head home for the night. She collapsed on her bed, the bed piled with soft blankets to form a mattress and topped with a soft fur comforter.

She pressed her hand into one of the pillows, "Feathers." she smiled. It had been a while since she had rented a room so luxurious. She usually didn't splurge with her gold, saving it for emergencies mostly, or to upgrade her equipment, or buy supplies for business trips. She began to mull over the fate of the guild; trying to piece together why this "Karliah" would want Mercer and Gallus dead. A red-handed person would obviously never be able to take over the guild. A red-handed person would never be allowed into the guild if she wanted to steal from them; not that Karliah would be able to, the vaults were locked tightly and required three keys to open the doors.

Sattilde adjusted, placing her head upon the marshmallow of a pillow, and flinging the blanket over herself. It felt as if she had melted into the bed and pretty soon, she had melted into sleep.

"Thanks once again." Sattilde paid Mralki, having slept the night at Rorikstead. She would be home by sunset tomorrow, and she was eager to return to Riften. She wouldn't be able to make it there though on this day; she would have to stay in Whiterun instead.

As she set off down the road, she checked her supplies: five healing potions, one healing salve, two invisibility elixirs, and two days worth of food. She would be able to stock up on those when she reached Whiterun.

A few hours of walking put her back at the western watchtower where guards were steadily rebuilding what the dragon had knocked over. It was early evening once more and she had almost returned to Whiterun. The stables were in sight when a thunderous noise shook her off her feet.

"DO VAH KIIN!" She fell forward, catching herself with her hands.

After the shaking subsided, she glanced around, "What in Oblivion..." She wiped the pebbles from her palms and then hastily made her way into Whiterun's safe walls. There were murmurings around town about the noise.

"It's the Greybeards!" Mikael the bard was discussing with some of the patrons.

"The Greybeards?!" The conversation broke away into whispers as people discussed amongst themselves. Sattilde felt sick, so she took a seat at the counter and asked for a drink of water.

"Pft, the Greybaards this, the Greybaards that." A man Sattilde didn't recognize scoffed. "Who cares? If the Dragonburn wanted to answer their summonsss, they would have dun'it when Helgen got burned." Sattilde could tell the man was intoxicated, but his words cut deep. She looked away in shame. "The Dragonborn isn'ta hero. He'sa cowurd!" He words slurred by the mead. "You git what I'm sayin', right?"

Sattilde didn't look up. _A coward? Did people really think that of her?_ She looked toward the front of the inn, out the window, where the sun had already set, crickets had started chirping along to Mikael's lute. She couldn't depart now, she'd have to wait until morn. She offered Hulda her usual payment for the night, and returned to the room with the tiny window, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She checked the window once more; the time obviously had not changed, even though she desperately wished for it to be daylight outside.

The man's words echoed in her head. She had never really thought about how her ability would affect others, only herself. She threw herself backwards on the bed, covering her face with her hands. She had been so selfish; of course it affected others. She was the first to help take down a dragon and actually win the fight. She finally understood: she had to help end the dragon attacks.

She sat back up, a look of determination plastered across her face, "Alright. I'll do it." she said aloud to herself. "I'll climb the 7,000 Steps."

Sattilde felt empowered by the trip to Ivarstead that morning. She paid 20 gold for a carriage, to allow her legs to rest. She had refreshed her food supply and a waterskin full of fresh spring water, she approached the foot of the mountain and tilted her head to the peak.

The mountain towered so high, it stretched into the clouds, fading away to the heavens. She took in a deep breath, facing the path ahead. The steps had been forced into the mountain path, winding upward and wrapping around the mountainside. Sattilde could hear her heart thumping in her chest. She didn't know how long it would take to get to High Hrothgar, the monastery where the Greybeards awaited her arrival.

She finally set her foot upon the first of the many steps she'd have to take to reach the top. The path at the bottom was much easier to trek, but as she continued to climb, the steps became slippery and more often than not, she found herself losing her balance. The higher she went, the more snow that threatened her path. She trudged through the blankets of frozen rain, pacing herself so as not to tire too quickly before the top.

Around late noon, she stopped to rest and eat in front of an ancient stone tablet. She pulled out some cold bread and her waterskin, examining the tablet as she ate:

Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world

Proving for all that their Voice too was strong

Although their sacrifices were many-fold

She munched on the bread loaf and then gazed out at the land before her. The wind tossed her hair about as she admired the majesty of her homeland from a vantage point she had yet to behold. She approached the edge and leaned over; Ivarstead had become nothing more than small dots. She tossed her bread over the side, watching it soar in midair before shrinking so tiny that couldn't even see it make it touch ground.

She picked up her bag and after chugging some water, she continued onward, up another set of icy steps between a couple of jagged rocks, curving to the left, and wrapping around another ancient tablet to the right, she could finally see High Hrothgar at the end of of the road. The climb had taken several hours, but she had made it unscathed.

The historical building had a central tower, two staircases leading up on either side, a chest decorated with a floral design for offerings, welcomed visitors, but the solid metal doors seemed to drive visitors away. The cinder blocks that formed the barrier and tower were cracked, fading in color from the sunlight. The top of the abbey coated in white snow, more fell from the clouds, like flecks of dust, sticking to whatever ground they could find.

Sattilde could hear the flow of the air rushing through the paneless windows and beneath the massive doors. She used her entire body just to push them open enough for her to slip inside. She leaned back against it to seal it again. The mostly stone building had little light despite the many windows lining each wall. In the center of the room, in the middle of the concrete floor, was a tiled diamond. Jugs and urns were clustered near anoter staircase split in two, leading up to an even darker portion of the room, and to similarly designed doors, but not as giant.

She approached the diamond in the floor. There was no one present. She leaned forward, peering into the side rooms, but saw no one.

"Hello?" she called out, an echo was her only responder.

From the shadows, elderly men, cloaked in grey, beards of grey emerged, four of them, two on each side of the diamond. "Uh... hi." Sattilde smiled nervously, backing away cautiously.

"Welcome, Dragonborn."


	6. Where the End Began

"I'm answering your summons." intimidated, Sattilde took another step back. "You call me Dragonborn." the robed monk put his hands in his sleeves, "What does that mean?"

"First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."

"Taste... my Voice?"

"Yes, use your thu'um against me." the old man recalled the first time she Shouted at the watchtower and mustered all the magic she could, rising in her throat, the power building up, until she had no choice but to release it, " _FO_!" she Shouted. Her weak puff of ice frosting the Greybeard's clothes. He stumbled backwards and then after regrouping, brushed the frost from his cloak.

"Very good." he nodded to his fellow members. "I am Master Arngeir and I speak for the Greybeards." He bowed to Sattilde, "You asked what it means to be Dragonborn. We are here to guide you to the answer, just as we helped guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you."

"You mean Tiber Septim?"

"You and Tiber Septim were not the only ones. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed the gift upon mortalkind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age... that is not ours to know."

"There could be others with my gift?" Sattilde felt reassured at this thought, as if a profound burden had somewhat been lifted from her shoulders.

"You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say." Master Argneir said, "You have shown us that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift."

Sattilde started to nod, but Master Arngeir continued, "But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you?"

Sattilde mulled this over, but answering the question truthfully, she would tell him, "I do not know, but I'm willing, and ready, to learn." She bowed to him.

"Without training," he summoned her closer to the diamond, "you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout. Now let us see if your body is truly willing to learn." Sattilde stepped closer until she was at the southern corner of the diamond.

"When you Shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you a natural ability to learn Words of Power. The Shout you used, 'fo', means 'frost' in the language of dragons.

All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each individual Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger." He waved a hand to the Greybeard to his left, "Master Einarth will teach you 'krah', the second Word in Frost Breath. 'Krah' means 'cold' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with 'fo' to focus your thu'um more precisely."

Master Einarth stepped forward to the diamond, speaking "krah" into the floor, a stream of cold flowed from his mouth. Symbols etched into the floor, flaming brightly, and then dimming down again. Sattilde moved closer, studying the symbols of the dragon language, and somehow, understanding them even without ever having seen dragon letters. She looked to Master Einarth, transfixed upon his eyes, a rush of knowledge, a rush of magic, flowed into Sattilde's chest, just as it had done when she killed the dragon. She felt the power within her, more forceful than before, too much for her to contain.

" _FO KRAH_!" She Shouted, knocking Arngeir and Einarth backwards with ice pellets. "Many apologies, Master!" she helped the men up.

"Impressive. Your thu'um is precise." Arngeir chuckled softly, "You learn a new word like a master... you show great promise, Dragonborn." The other Greybeards had started up the stairs as if rehearsed, "We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri." Arngeir stretched his arm, allowing Sattilde to pass and follow the four men into the courtyard that awaited just beyond the doors.

The moon had awakened and snow had started falling fervently, coating everything it could find, "We will now see how well you learn a completely new Shout." Arngeir instructed. Master Borri passed by, standing in the cold pathway. "Master Borri will teach you 'wuld', which means 'whirlwind.'"

As Einarth had inside, Master Borri spoke the shout into the snow, it burned, died, and then revealed the symbols of the dragon language. Sattilde understood it immediately, and became transfixed on Borri's face, tapping into his knowledge and absorbing it for herself.

Overwhelmed by the new power, Sattilde released it, " _WULD_!" she unexpectantly flew foward, tripping over a fallen branch on the ground. "Whoa..." she heaved. Master Arngeir rushed to her side, helping her stand.

"Your quick mastery of a new thu'um is... astonishing. I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself..." His tone turned from incredulous to ominous, "But beware that your skill does not outstrip your wisdom. You need to learn how to control your thu'um, as you seem to struggle containing it within yourself." He stroked his beard with a thoughtful hand, "Yes, for your last trial, I would have you retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from its tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. You may remain here for the night if you wish."

Sattilde agreed to his offer, as she was ready for rest, "Thank you, Master. How do I contain my Shout though?"

As they all headed inside the monastery, Arngeir shook his head, "You will learn in time, Dragonborn. Retrieve the Horn and you will learn." Then he departed to meditate.

Sattilde was quite tired of the ambiguous meanings, "Where the end began", "you will learn"; but maybe she was just tired in general. She decided to look around the monastery, somewhat out of curiosity, but mostly to find a bed. She wandered to the left, down a skinny hallway, snowflakes drifting into the corridor and melting against the warm stone. Ancient sconces had been drilled into the bricks, thrashing in the cold mountain storm. At her right, Sattilde discovered what appeared to be a boardroom, an enormous round table filling the entire space, stone chairs pushed underneath the edge. Banners hung from the rafters, decorated with the dragon language:

 _"Lok Bo,"_ she read aloud, understanding what it said, "Sky Above..." She looked at the next one hovering over the opposite side of the table.

" _Thu'um Tuum_ ," she read aloud again, "Voice Within..." She took a seat at the table and finally stripped her backpack from her shoulders. She hadn't realized how much it had been weighing her down. She reached inside, and pulled out a fresh bread loaf (since she tossed her other one over the mountainside) and slowly, methodically chewed on the garlicy, buttery goodness.

Maybe it was the mesmerizing chewing, or the cold, or maybe the sleepiness, but she found her thoughts drifting back to Brynjolf again. She imagined him sitting across the table and stirred up a conversation with him in her head.

"What are you staring at now, Bryn?" she asked.

He smirked, tossing a hand through the sheen in his hair, "I could ask you the same thing. Where have you been? You should have been back already." He sounded perturbed, but a longing drifted in his tone.

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Bryn." She set her food down, "The guild is pulling me one way," she motioned with her left hand, "my 'Dragon Blood' is pulling me another." she motioned with her right, then she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Imaginary Brynjolf didn't reply for a moment, "I notice you do that often."

"Huh?" She glowered, "Do what?" and why was he ignoring her issues?

"You tuck your hair behind your ear when you're worried or confused." He raised his clunky boots upon the table, crossing a large foot over the other. "I feel like I understand you better than you understand yourself, lass." He locked his fingers behind his head. His guild armor tightly wrapping around his body, she could see the outline of his pecs and the definition of his biceps.

She looked back down at her partially eaten bread, still frowning, but then she relaxed her face, her eyebrows raising as she spoke, "I feel a lot like this bread sometimes. Everyone taking bites out of me," she frowned again, "and even if I don't fulfill their ideas of what I should taste like, they still continue to rip me apart, until I'm all gone." As she looked up, she said, "Do you understand?"

But Brynjolf was no longer there.

Sattilde jolted awake, she looked around. She had evidently fallen asleep at the table; the bread she was eating the night before only had a couple of bites taken out of it. She looked to her left, to the window in the hall. It was morning, but how early or late, she did not know. She wiped the drool from her cheek, quickly pawing at the small pool of spit on the table, then tossed her bread back into her bag. She needed to get to Riften.  
She slung her bag across her back and skipped the steps, grabbing hold of the wall as she spun herself to the left. She saw Arngeir at the end of the passageway, "Master Arngeir! What hour is it?"

Arngeir appeared puzzled, "There is no need to rush, but if you must know, it's high noon."

 _By Akatosh!_ She had overslept, much too long. "I must go!" she skipped down the steps and slammed her body against the front door, barely making it budge as she shoved it aside. She didn't bother shutting them back as she gazed up to see the sun's height. It was noon, just as Arngeir had said.

She should have already returned to Riften, but it would be night by the time she got down the mountain. She flopped onto the steps, her bag sulking behind her. Brynjolf was probably overcome with worry at the moment by her delayed arrival.

There was no point in delaying it further then, she stood and then had a realization. She took her bag straps into her hands, holding tight, and then summoned her Voice,

" _WULD_!" she Shouted, flying forward. She caught herself from falling, but still knelt from the whiplash. She looked behind her, she had teleported at least a hundred yards away. She caught her breath, then sprinted past the jagged rocks, when she found a straight stretch, she summoned her Voice again.

" _WULD_!" She teleported to the edge of the mountain, shrieking as she clung to a nearby snowberry branch. Snow tossed out in front of her, turning to dust as it sprinkled away off the ledge, a couple of rocks falling with it to the earth several hundred feet below.  
She scrambled back to safety, and threw herself onto the path, panting on all fours, trying to catch her breath again. Using her thu'um took a lot of energy out of her. She looked back to where she had almost tumbled to her death.

"I can't..." she huffed. "I can't do it anymore." She would have to walk all the way back. The power of the thu'um was more than she could handle, and it wasn't worth almost Shouting herself off the mountain. She pushed herself off the ground; Brynjolf would just have to worry, unless he wanted to find her mangled body at the base of the mountainside.

Master Arngeir had been correct in his assessment; she needed to learn how to control her thu'um. One minute, she's only shouting several yards, then next she's shouting herself several hundred yards. She shuffled through the snow, grabbing overhanging evergreen branches for support as she tried to keep herself from sliding down the mountain. At one point she even scooted on her rear to get down part of the pass.

As predicted, it took her several hours to reach Ivarstead below, and night was edging closer. Surprisingly, she wasn't the least bit tired, possibly from waking up so late. She checked her map, despite visiting Ivarstead many times, and looked to see how much further she had to go. Weighing her last wave of energy against the several miles that lay between her and Brynjolf, she decided to take the risk and continued through the town, but stopped at the end of the bridge.

It would be completely dark in an hour or so, and she didn't have any torches. She looked back at Ivarstead and groaned, she turned back towards the forest and over the bridge. She didn't care, she needed to get back to Riften! She didn't recall most of the journey before the attack, as the only light available was the dim moonlight, greeting her every now and then from beyond the treetops.

She figured it must have been close to the Orc stronghold, somewhere up the hill, when the pack appeared, when the wolves surrounded her. She was able to best them, but at a price. One of the wolves looked sick, his eyes bloodshot, his ribcage could be seen beneath his skin. He managed to get a bite in on her ankle when he lunged. Most wolves would have run away after seeing their pack members dead, but this one stayed and fought.

Sattilde knew he must have been carrying a disease. She stabbed the animal in the throat and then continued her jog to Riften. That's when she found it hard to move, hard to bend her legs, hard to swing her arms. Her body felt stiff as if she were turning to stone.

As her pace slowed, it started to overtake her; it pulled her down until she was crawling, until she had fallen on her side, until she had rolled over onto her back.

She stared up at the stars, twisting and turning, dancing in the night sky. She blinked, noticing the tops of the birch trees' silhouettes. She blinked again and saw everything fading. She blinked one more time and then found herself losing grip. She felt lightheaded; she saw stars again, but not the ones in the sky. The sky and trees started to turn and spin around her.

 _I'm gonna faint..._ she told herself, and then everything went black.

"She's waking up." Sattilde groggily opened her eyes. "Sattilde, are you all right?" the voice seemed familiar. Her eyes began to water as she struggled to peel her eyelids open. Everything looked fuzzy, so she squeezed her eyes shut and then blinked several times to clear the view. She looked around; she was in the guild's living quarters.

"Sattilde?" the voice asked again. Sattilde tried to turn her head, but her neck was stiff. A face appeared in front of hers. It was Brynjolf and her heart skipped a beat.

"B-Bryn." she raspily said. "Wh-what happ..." she closed her eyes, catching her breath, "What happened?"

"You were attacked by some wolves. One of them gave you Rockjoint." He placed a rough hand over her forehead. "She has fever still." He informed someone behind him.

A female voice came closer, "Move aside, Bryn." Sattilde shut her eyes again, she could feel a bead of sweat trickling down temple of her head. "I'll have to use this telekenesis spell to pull the potion through her body. She won't be able to swallow it without choking with the state she's in." Sattilde heard a cork pop free, then a sound similar to water being poured into a glass. A soft hand with pointed fingernails pried her mouth open and a bittersweet liquid fill her mouth. It slid unnaturally down her throat and cooled the inside of her stomach.

"There, now let her rest." Sattilde heard footsteps fading away.

"Galathil, wait." Brynjolf protested.

"No excuses, Brynjolf. Out! Let my patient rest." Sattilde could almost hear Galathil shoving him out the door. She closed her eyes and faded into sleep.

"I'm just glad she's okay." Sattilde could hear voices again. Her fever had broken and she felt better. She lay still to eavesdrop on the conversation though. Sattilde recognized the voice to be Brynjolf's again. "I don't kow what I would have..." he paused. "What?"

Sattilde could hear him smiling.

"You like her." Sattilde held her breath. Vex.

Brynjolf sighed, "It's complicated, Vex."

"Complicated?" she walked somewhere, most likely closer to Brynjolf. "There's nothing complicated about kissing her before she leaves for a few days."

"That isn't the complicated part..."

Vex understood, "Oh." The silence felt like it lasted ages to Sattilde. _Say something!_ She screamed at them in her head.

"I think you'd be surprised, Bryn." Vex said finally. "I never understood why you didn't just tell her how you felt, or asked her how she felt. You're frustrating."

"That's what I just explained though. That's the-" Brynjolf's voice became hushed, "I think she's awake."

Sattilde's heart pounded violently in her chest at what she had just overheard. Brynjolf did feel the same way as her, but the complicated part he mentioned left her wondering, left her with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She attempted to turn her head, and was relieved to discover she could. She turned to her left and saw Brynjolf sitting in a chair at the table nearest the entry to the quarters,

Vex leaned against the wall across from him.

"You feeling any better, lass?" Brynjolf's face was fire red. Sattilde could tell he was nervous she had overheard their chat. She nodded at him, still a bit tired from the medicine and recovery. Brynjolf rose and went to her, sitting on his heels as he knelt at her bedside.

"I'll... leave you two alone." Vex said and left.

"I was really worried about you." Brynjolf sounded angry.

Sattilde cleared her throat, but her voice still felt dry, and she sounded raspy when she spoke, "I'm sorry."

"Where in Oblivion were you? You were supposed to be back two days ago." Brynjolf was definitely enraged with worry. Brynjolf bowed his head, "I'm sorry. I was so worried about you," he looked her deeply in the eyes, "I thought you had died! Then Rune found you out on the road, nearing death it looked like. Rockjoint had you paralyzed."

"I know. I deeply apologize, Brynjolf." He wasn't going to leave until she offered some sort of explanation. She turned her head back. Her neck ached, "I got the information from Gulum-Ei." She decided her revelation of visiting the Greybeards would have to be saved for a different day.

"You did?" Brynjolf sounded eager, "Did you get the name of the buyer?"

"Yes. Her name is Karliah. I assume you know her."

Brynjolf spoke through clenched teeth, "Yes, what does she want?"

"Gulum-Ei said she was after Mercer. She went to some place, said something about 'where the end began.'" she turned to Brynjolf, "Does that mean anything to you?"

"No, but I think Mercer would have an idea."

"We should go tell him." Sattilde struggled to sit up.

Brynjolf gently pushed against her shoulder, "We can wait. You need to heal. Besides, no one else in the guild even knows about the selling of the estate and meadery. I think Mercer intends on keeping it that way for the time being."

Sattilde nodded and sunk back down under the blanket. Brynjolf stayed, still hunched over her bedside, studying the floor.

"Sattilde, can you answer something truthfull for me?"

Sattilde could feel her heart start to race, "Yes, of course."

"You..." he cleared his throat, still studying the floor, "You aren't thinking of leaving the guild, are ya?"

This question took Sattilde by surprise; she didn't think she was giving anyone any indication that she was considering leaving the family.

"What? No! Of course not!" she was suddenly washed with guilt, "Why would you ask that?"

"With you being Dragonborn, I realized it was selfish of me to ask you to stay. If you have any doubt about staying, I don't want to hold you back." He looked up at her. Sattilde had to resist every urge to lean in and press her lips against his. "Do you... have any doubts?"  
Sattilde shook away the thought, "No. I'm staying here. This is my family. This is my home."

Brynjolf took her hand in his, "Good." he smiled.

Over the next couple of days, Sattilde continued to recover. She rested most days, stretching her limbs and rotating her joints often. After two days, she was feeling almost back to normal. She was able to sit up and eat stew with a spoon.

"You recovered fast." Galathil's hands beamed a golden healing spell on Sattilde's joints. Hovering her open palms just over the skin and wrapping the spell around Sattilde's arms and legs. "I don't feel any damage to your cartilage, which is good. We didn't know how long you had been out on the road. Lucky Rune had a job in Whiterun, otherwise, I think you wouldn't have been as fortunate."

Once she finished her healing session, she jotted some notes down in a pocket sized journal with a quill. "Alright. I'm going to say it's safe for you to start taking guild jobs again. You can officially leave your bed." She slapped the journal closed and then left without another word.

Sattilde jumped from the bed and dashed out to find Brynjolf. She found him over by Mercer's desk, they looked like they were about to go after each other's throats, so she slowed down.

"I think we can handle it." Brynjolf said, shaking his head.

Mercer's indefinite scowl seemed more intense than usual, "I won't allow this. I'm coming along and that's final." he huffed, Brynjolf threw his hands in the air and faced away.

Sattilde approached the desk, "Galathil told me I'm good to go. Did Brynjolf tell you about Gulum-Ei?" She looked at Mercer.

"Yes, that's what we were discussing. He wants the the two of you to go deal with Karliah together, but I won't allow her to kill any more members of the guild."

She looked at Brynjolf, leaning against the end of the desk shaking his head, and Mercer, who continued to frown at the back of Brynjolf's head, "Well, I think it's best if all three of us go. Three against one? She can't outwit three cunning thieves, right?" Sattilde leaned against the desk.

Brynjolf turned around, revealing a smirk across his face, "No, I suppose not."  
Mercer had an equally deviant grin, "Alright, then we'll meet up at Snow Veil Sanctum come morning." then took his leave toward the tavern.

"Sattilde, could I talk to you privately?" Brynjolf sounded formal. Sattilde glanced to her right to see Rune and Thyrnn praciting their archery.

"Sure." she complied, following Brynjolf across the cistern to the empty living quarters.  
"I told Mercer I wanted you to come along with me." Brynjolf perched himself on the edge of a crate, half sitting, half standing still. "I didn't want you to be sent on another job and wind up..." he choked, "like you did when you came home."

He looked at her, as if to make sure she was still listening. She was.

"I feel this desire, something I haven't felt in a very long time, to protect you. To keep you safe. I know if I went to Snow Veil Sanctum alone, you'd be sent on different job, and I wouldn't be there to watch over you."

Sattilde could see where he was headed, but her heart thumped wildly within her still.

"I don't mean to imply you can't handle yourself-you can! That's one of the things I admire so much about you." His gazed had drifted downward to his boots, "You're a strong person. You care so much, which is, I guess, odd, in this line of work, but it makes me admire you still. You're beautiful, inside and out, and," he looked back into her eyes. "What I'm trying to say is..." he trailed off.

Brynjolf seemed transfixed on her; her black hair framing her face, just barely able to graze the tops of her shoulders. Its sheen glistened in the light, her bangs swept ever so slightly over her left eye. When she tucked her hair behind her ears, he could see her sapphire irises more clearly, full of life, and despite her hardships, happiness. It was hard to take his eyes off of them and her blushed lips, full, tempting. He wanted to grab hold of her fair face and plant his lips on hers when she spoke.

"I'm in love with you." he said, so plainly, so naturally, it almost didn't come as a shock to Sattilde. He said it as if he'd been saying it her entire life, and yet, it was so sincere and genuine, that it did come as a shock to Sattilde.

She looked in his evergreen eyes, burning with a passion so strong, they drew her to them. She strode toward him and gently pressed her hands on the sides of his face, feeling the roughness of his jaw, the ruggedness of his skin, and wrapped her mouth around his. He cradled the back of her head, the silkiness of her hair between his fingers, and reciprocated her affection, kissing her earnestly like a deployed soldier finally returning home.

When they broke away, Sattilde stared up at him, a bit embarrassed of herself, but also relieved, "Thank Mara, it's about time you said that." she laughed, showing her beautiful white teeth.

He didn't laugh, nor did he smile, he lifted her off the floor in one motion, Sattilde wrapped her legs around his waist, and they kissed again. Brynjolf finally cracked a grin, "It was worth the wait though, right?"

Sattilde laughed and nodded, "Mhm."

Brynjolf set her back on the floor and stroked her cheek, "I do though. I love you."  
She nodded, placing her hand on his, "I love you too."

Vex entered in that moment, "Is this a bad time?" she asked, noticing their loving touch.  
Brynjolf and Sattilde faced Vex, placing their hands at their sides, "Not at all. I..." Brynjolf looked down at Sattilde. "I told her how I felt, and evidently, she feels the same way." he enthusiastically smiled.

"Touching." Vex remarked, "Mercer is looking for you two. Wanted to go over the plans for your next job. Sent me to tell you to meet him in the Flagon." Vex turned to leave, but stopped and grumbled, "Oh... and congrats." Then made her exit.

"Classic Vex." Sattilde grinned. "Well, let's go get this over with."

Mercer, Brynjolf, and Sattilde departed from the Cistern around fifth hour in the morn, the sun had not woken yet, and to a certain extent, neither had Sattilde. Hearthfire had arrived and with it, longer nights and shorter days. In a couple of weeks, autumn would arrive officially and people would begin planning their trips to Winterhold to attend the Witches' Festival a month after that. It was a day for sorcery and conjuration, but the Mages Guild would often sell their spells at half price.

The cities would be a bit more barren than usual during the holiday, and Sattilde always remembered because it was a great time to be a thief. Empty houses, unattended jewelry boxes, and unguarded safes all awaited to be broken into and cleaned of their treasures. It was around that time that she got her first jobs as a member of the Thieves Guild, and it excited her each year, because it aso marked the anniversary of when she joined.

She gripped the reins of the horse in her hands. Delvin had loaned her his mare, a good hearty horse, to take to Snow Veil Sanctum. "Now, don't go gettin' the poor girl scraped up, Sattilde." he had warned. Sattilde patted the old girl's neck and she snorted happily in response.

"How much further, Mercer?" Sattilde called. Mercer led the three of them with Brynjolf in the middle. They were approaching the snow laden city of Windhelm and it was already mid-morning. Mercer unrolled his map, checking their surroundings from his own saddle.

"I'd say we're just about there." He called back, "It's beyond the city a ways, probably another hour or two. We can stop in Windhelm if you like."  
If I like? Mercer never said things like this.

"No, that's quite alright. Let's just get there already." Sattilde kicked her boots into Amaryllis's sides, a fitting name for the gorgeous horse. Amaryllis snorted again, whinnied, then sped off, passing Brynjolf and Mercer on their horses. They matched her speed, stampeding to the left past Windhelm's stables.

Windhelm sat across the White River where it met the Sea of Ghosts on the eastern side between Skyrim and Morrowind. It's the oldest, continuously inhabited city in Tamriel and was once the capital of the First Empire of the Nords. Now, it houses Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, an old fortress, and an uncoincidental symbol for the Stormcloak rebellion.

Sattilde had jobs often in Windhelm, as it just a few miles north of Riften. The city was a desolate fortress occupied by racist, old way Nords who resisted change with every fiber of their bodies. They even had a block of the city called the "Gray Quarter" as it was where most Dunmer refugees would buy their homes.

Sattilde scoffed silently as they rode by, following the freshly snowed path, they rode west, following the icy river to a waterfall, where they turned right, using a cobblestone bridge to cross over it. They went straight, straying from the road a bit to follow in between a mountain ravine, until it cleared to snowy hills, rising up and dipping down, until they reached the edge of the sea. Jutting up in the middle of the frozen landscape, was a circular cairn, marking ancient Nord tomb where relatives or honored dead were buried beneath the earth. The waves of the Sea of Ghosts could be heard crashing into the cliffside.

There was a leafless dead tree to the right of the tomb where a beautiful gray appaloosa stallion was hitched to the tree. A campfire still smoldering under the branches, along with footprints leading inside the burial mound.

"This must be Karliah's horse." Mercer observed as they approached. The three of them slid out of their saddles, similarly hitching them to the dead limbs. "I'll take care of this." Mercer withdrew his blade, the horse whinnied, stomping his feet wildly as Mercer approached.

"Mercer, don't!" Sattilde cried.

"Mercer!" Brynjolf grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?!"

Mercer turned and growled at Brynjolf, "What if she escapes?"

"There's three of us! What makes you think she's gonna escape?" Brynjolf asked.

"Fine!" he jammed his sword into its sheath. "Just make certain to keep your eyes open. Karliah is as sharp as a blade." They headed to the edge of the tomb, following the staircase spiraling down below the surface. "The last thing I need is you two blundering into a trap and warning her that we're here."

When they got to the bottom, he stopped and faced them, "You two take the lead."

"Why us?" Sattilde asked.

"I'm sorry," he replied facetiously, "I was under the impression I was in charge. You're leading and I'm following. Is that clear enough for you?" he snarled.

"Fine." Sattilde angrily replied.

Sattilde and Brynjolf approached the iron doors. Sattilde pushed against them, but they didn't budge, "Locked." she informed the others.

"Stand aside." Mercer said, "They say that these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable." He knelt and observed the lock, "This one doesn't look too difficult. Quite simple really." He whipped out a lockpick, but also another tool. Sattilde and when she looked to Brynjolf questioningly, he also wore a puzzled look. The little device was a bronze colored pick, with what appeared to have several keyblades at the end. The handle of it was black with turquoise spirals decorating all around the knob. Little beaded lines saprating each spiral between.

"All it takes is a bit of know-how and a lot of skill." Mercer explained as he used both the strange tool and the lockpick to unlock the tomb. "That should do it. After you two." he waved a hand for them to go on by.

Sattilde and Brynjolf exchanged a quizzical look at each other as they entered the musty burial site.

"The stench in here..." Brynjolf commented, covering his nose with his sleeve.

"This place smells of death." Mercer agreed. "Be on your guard."

The structure that formed the tomb looked to be made of sandstone, with a color to match the name. A staircase led down, deeper beneath Skyrim, and at the foot it turned left to another staircase leading down even further, where a few empty coffins lay open and dead draugr littered the floor. At the right of the room, a gate barred the way.

"Pull that chain over there," Mercer instructed, and quickly added, "and watch out for the spikes. Looks like Karliah reset all of the traps."

Brynjolf volunteered, pulled the chain as Sattilde and Mercer stood back, then flung himself beneath the gate as a hinged wall of spikes flung toward him. He slid beneath into the hallway and then stood and dusted his greaves.

"You weren't kidding." he said. Mercer and Sattilde pulled the wall of spikes back so they could get by and the team continued down the crypt. In the hall were recessed resting beds, most occupied by skeletons or embalmed bodies. A few magical candles were lit to forever light the dead's eternal resting place. Some of the draugr that had undergone rigor mortis were placed in a standing postion in some of the vertical recesses in the wall.

Mercer, Sattilde, and Brynjolf cautiously made their way down the hall, as they knew the dangers of waking the dead from their eternal slumber. When they were halfway to the end, Sattilde froze. She heard a snarl and twisted her head to the left. A standing draugr flung his eyes open, revealing cerulean blue beams in the sockets, barely resembling eyes at all.

The draugr stepped down from his standing bed, equipping the broken blade at his hip.

"Draugr!" Sattilde cried. Brynjolf turned around and cut the undead down where he stood, slicing him once across both legs, and then severing his head from his neck. Sattilde saw the blue fade from his eyes and then a relieving sigh.

"Let's try to be more quiet." Brynjolf suggested, crouching down close to the floor, Sattilde and Mercer following suit. They made it to the end where another gate blocked their path. Brynjolf motioned to the chain at the left, which Sattilde pulled, and the gate shot upward. The path had a couple of steps leading down again, and then turned to the left.

The open room they entered had bones tied to ropes, hanging from the ceiling. Roots and fallen rocks could easily trip someone if not paying attention. A couple of closed coffins stood against the wall to their right with a multitude of candles surrounding them. A caved in tunnel to their left explained the rocks in the room, a couple of candleholders crushed beneath the impact.

"Bone chimes... clever." Mercer whispered. "Rigged to wake the draugr I'd bet. Don't bump into any of them." He ordered. The three of them army crawled to the other side of the room where yet another gate blocked their path. Brynjolf reached up with long arm and pulled the chain. The gate, however, crashed loudly into the ceiling. They turned behind them as a coffin lid flew across the room, knocking over a couple of candles, then crumbling into many pieces as it collided with the wall.

A draugr growled, its shriveled skin could be seen more easily in the brighter light of the candles. It wore nothing but a tattered cloth across its chest and crotch. It picked up a rusted axe that had fallen from its tomb and saw the intruders upon the ground.

"Come on!" Brynjolf beckoned on the other side of the gate. Sattilde and Mercer fled to the other side as Mercer pulled and tugged on the gate above. Sattilde jumped to his aid and together they slammed the gate shut just as the draugr reached them, crashing into the blocked path, its axe clanging against the metal.

"That was close." Brynjolf whispered. They followed more steps leading down and to the right, then to the left, until they came upon a wide open hall, and at the end, square wooden doors with metal bracers across the top and bottom.

They cracked the doors open to see what they were about to go up against. The next room was a spacious tomb where several of the bridges above had collapsed forming piles of rubble around the central raised platform of the area. A draugr, armed with a metal helmet, thick horns wrapping to the front of the face, and weak, cracked leather armor strapped across its chest. It wore a fur tunic for leg protection that stretched down to its knees. Its boots were hardly visible from their viewpoint, but they looked to be made of fur as well. It rested a skeletal hand on the pommel of its blade, pacing back and forth above them. To the left was their pathway. There was a rickety wooden ramp leading up and around to the top of the platform.

They retreated back into their hallway, keeping the door cracked so as not alert the guard.

"If we stick to the darker areas of the room, we should be able to get to the passage at the left." Brynjolf whispered.

Sattilde nodded, Mercer did little more than acknowledge that they were both still there. Sticking to Brynjolf's plan, the three of them pushed the door aside, the draugr above barely noticing their entering. They hugged the wall, staying hidden in the shadowy crevices of the wall. They made it past the open gate (which Karliah must not have reset to avoid being seen by the guard.)

They followed the path that curved to the right, where at the end of a long tunnel, a square metal hatch in the wall with a rounded, blocked their path. Nordic designs swirled in the two top quarters of the metal, mirroring each other. Down the center, were three circles, each one smaller than the last, and below them, a very large circle.

The three approached the door and investigated the circles. The top two circles featuring an abstracted eagle, lunging at its prey. The smallest circle featuring a similarly abstracted snake, slithering downward. The largest circle of the four, beneath the other three, had three holes horizontally across the top, a slight indentation in the shape of a claw connecting to them.

"Ah," Mercer said as he joined the two inspecting the hatch. "it's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors. How quaint." he smirked. "Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open, and since I'm certain Karliah already did away with it, we're on our own."

"What do we do then?" Sattilde asked.

"Fortunately, these doors have a weakness and if you know how to exploit it..." He pressed his hands against the circle with the claw shape, taking his left hand and wedging it between the circle and the hatch. Sattilde wasn't quite sure how, but she heard a click, and then the door lowered, dust and dirt falling with it as it scraped the insides of the wall.

"Get down! Quick!" Brynjolf ordered in a hushed voice.

Empty urns and vases clattered to the floor on the other side. Mercer, Sattilde, and Brynjolf dodged to the sides of the hall, never letting their gaze leave the opening before them.

Brynjolf leaned forward, having chosen a hiding spot closest to the door, he peered in and then motioned with his fingers to follow. The room they entered had a ceiling that rose countless feet above them to the surface of the world. There was a cave in in the ceiling where the ground evidently formed a weak point and collapsed. Snow had piled in much of the room from the recent snowfall, like piles of white sand. On the far end of the room, a staircase that stretched across the width of the tomb, led upward to a decorated coffin, an entryway behind it.

"There's the way." Sattilde whispered. They crept forward steadily, as there were no candles in sight, and the only light available to them was the one from the hole in the ceiling. Brynjolf crept inside, nearing the foot of the staircase, Sattilde at his right, and Mercer directly behind her.

"Hnngh!" Sattilde grunted. She gripped her chest and glanced down. An silent arrow had found its way left of her heart. "Ugh..." she struggled to see. She saw a flash of black and then fell to her knees.

"Sattilde!" Brynjolf cried, racing back to her side, kneeling to her aid. She fell on her side, gasping. She wasn't bleeding too bad, but she winced at the pain, pressing onto the pain, the arrow between her index and middle finger.

Brynjolf turned to the steps and saw a hooded Dunmer, cloaked in black, a mask covering her face, and a couple of amethyst colored eyes (which was uncommon for Dunmer who usually had blood red eyes) glistening in the dim light.

Mercer had reached the edge of the steps, standing just a couple of feet in front of Sattilde where she and Brynjolf watched him confront the woman who had caused so much havoc for the guild and sent the guild into a downhill spiral.

"Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?" Mercer challenged.

"Give me a reason to try." the gruff Dunmer said calmly.

"You're a clever girl, Karliah." Mercer scoffed. "Buying Goldenglow and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired." He applauded.

"'To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.'" she stated, sounding somewhat sad when she did, "It was the first lesson Gallus taught us." she choked.  
Sattilde was beginning to fade in and out of consciousness.

"You always were a quick study." Mercer remarked.

"Not quick enough," she said solmenly, "otherwise Gallus would still be alive."  
Mercer spat, "Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way."

"What are you talking about?" Brynjolf asked suddenly.

"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales?" Karliah asked. "Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?" her tone verged on pure rage.

"Enough of this mindless banter!" Mercer's voice echoed, his blade singing as he withdrew it from its sheath, "Come, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!" he hissed.

Sattilde faded for a second, but when she came to, she saw Karliah raise her hand, casting an invisibility spell upon herself. It draped down over her body and until she was completely covered, no longer visible, "I'm no fool." she said. "Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence."  
She sounded further away, possibly up the stairs, "But I can promise," she seethed, "the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

Sattilde faded again and when she came to, she saw Brynjolf standing over her, as if to guard her from the approaching Mercer, "How interesting. It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself." Brynjolf drew his blade, but Mercer continued, "Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb will become both of your resting places." He moved so quickly, Brynjolf didn't have a chance to block the stab to his gut.

Brynjolf doubled over, holding his wound that dripped with blood, heaving as he fell forward to his hands and knees, "But do you know what intrigues me the most?" Mercer grimaced. "The fact that this was all possible because of you." He glanced to Sattilde.  
Approaching her, she received a stab from his blade as well, and after he stepped over her body, Sattilde finally succumbed and fainted, the room engulfed in blackness.

When she came to, Sattilde was leaned against the dead tree, outside of the sanctum. Her vision cleared and focused. A shirtless Brynjolf sat to her right, his stab wound had a white bandage wrapped around it, a blood spot where Mercer's blade had cut him. He had a fur blanket draped over his broad shoulders. Sattilde pushed on her fist, groaning with pain as she struggled to stand.

"Easy, easy." Karliah's voice rung in Sattilde's ears. "Don't get up so quickly." The Dunmer's gloved hands appeared on her shoulders as she helped Sattilde to her feet.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was softer, quieter than it had been when she spoke to Mercer. It was very deep Morrowind native accent. Sattilde looked at Karliah who had removed her mask and hood, revealing a lovely head of burgundy red hair, tucked behind her elfish ears. Her shimmering purple eyes painted with concern. She wore years of tiredness and running under them, a couple of forehead wrinkles stretched across the top of her face.

"You shot me. How do you think I'm feeling?" Sattilde snidely replied.

"No, I saved your life." once Sattilde had found her footing, Karliah turned and continued to pack up some belongings that had been spilled onto the ground. "My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you," she glanced up at Sattilde, "we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Sattilde followed the trail of spilled supplies to the grey appaloosa's saddlebag, the horse laying on its side, staining the clean white snow with dark red blood.

"He killed him..." Sattilde noticed.

Karliah followed her gaze to the horse, "Yes. He did." she replied drearily. "He also took your horses, too, probably back to the guild, if I had to guess. He'll have to explain what happened, probably thought it best to spare them."

"Why did you save us?" Sattilde sat next to the shivering Brynjolf, taking his hands in hers and helping him warm them.

"My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer," Karliah explained as the pushed the rest of the food into her bag. "but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death." Karliah slung the stuffed bag against her back.

Brynjolf replied with gratitude, "Then we're in your debt."

"More than you'll ever know." Karliah helped him to his feet, handing him his Thieves Guild jack. "The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot." Snow flurries began to fall from grey clouds above. "All I hoped was to capture Mercer alive." She grabbed her bow that was leaning against the tree.  
Sattilde assisted Brynjolf as he slipped into his chest piece, grunting as he lifted his left arm, and a sigh of relief once it was over him.

"Why capture Mercer alive?" he asked.

"Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he's done. He needs to pay for Gallus's murder." Sattilde sensed a great fondness from Karliah whenever she said Gallus's name, and a deep seated hatred for Mercer. Whatever Mercer did, it went beyond just murdering the guildmaster.

"How will you prove it now? You could have just killed Mercer and evened the score." Sattilde said as she rolled up the fur blanket, buckling it at the bottom of her bag with the leather straps.

"My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake." the three of them gathered in a circle, "Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside.  
But no, killing Mercer wouldn't have evened the score. He lied to the guild, branded me a murderer, and slandered my name across his network of contacts. For twenty-five years, I ran, never sleeping in the same place twice and carefully covering my tracks. Mercer doesn't need to die..." Karliah bared her teeth, much like an angry wolf. "He needs to feel the cold sting of fate as his life crumbles in front of him and he's hunted by the Guild."

There was a tense pause.

"Well..." Brynjolf broke the silence, "what's the journal say?"

"I wish I knew." Karliah shrugged, a bit calmer, but still fuming. "The journal is written in some sort of language I've never seen before."

"Can it be translated?" Sattilde suggested.

Karliah thought for a moment, "Enthir..."

"Who?" Sattilde asked.

Karliah explained, "Gallus's friend at the College of Winterhold." and added quite excitedly, "Of course! It's the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nigtingale identity."

"There's that word again, 'Nightingale.'" Brynjolf interjected curiously.

"There were three of us. Myself, Gallus, and Mercer. We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild." The snow flurries began pouring down, "Perhaps I'll tell you more about it later. Rigth now, you need to head for Winterhold with the journal and get the translation."

"Wait, you're not coming?" Sattilde asked.

"I'm afraid not. There are preparations to make and Gallus's remains to lay to rest." Sattilde suddenly took notice of the long blanket wrapped body behind Karliah's feet. "I promise to join you there as soon as I can."

"Can you tell me more about Gallus, Karliah?"

"He was a scholar, a master thief, and a natural leader. Everyone respected him and followed him without question. It was Gallus who inducted me into the Nightingales and honed my skills to a razor sharp point. I owe everything to him." and with a quick look at the body behind her said, "We were... very close."

Sattilde empathized; she felt the same way towards Brynjolf who had helped her perfect the art of thievery and archery. She suddenly understood what Karliah had been implicating every time she spoke Gallus's name.

"You were lovers..." Sattilde revealed.

Karliah nodded looking back to the both of them, "Gallus once said he felt comfortable around me; able to let his guard down. I can't help but think that I'm responsible for what happened to him."

This washed Sattilde with a fear; she looked over to Brynjolf, saying a silent prayer to Arkay that he remain safe and never act rashly out of his feelings for her, lest he suffer the same fate as Gallus.

Karliah bent over and threw her lover over her shoulder, "Remember," she directed to them, "speak only to Enthir. Trust no one else."

"Then we'll await your arrival." Brynjolf concluded. "Thank you for saving us, Karliah. I'm..."

"It's okay, Brynjolf." She didn't allow him to make his apologies. "I don't blame anyone but Mercer. I promise you, if my back's against the wall again, I won't hesitate to kill him."


	7. Gallus's Journal

**CHAPTER SEVEN: GALLUS'S JOURNAL**

"Was it strange?" Sattile held Brynjolf's arm over her shoulder, helping him to walk the road to Winterhold.

"Was what strange, lass?" He winced.

"Seeing Karliah again."

Brynjolf grunted as he walked in-step with Sattilde. Luckily, she was far shorter than he, so her acting as a crutch for him helped, "Hm... I suppose it was, yes. When you find out the person who betrayed the guild was the one that took it over, you can't help but feel a little blindsided."

Sattilde nodded in agreement.

"I'm in disbelief about Mercer's betrayal, really. The answer to why he murdered Gallus is one that will stay with me until death if we don't translate this journal." He pulled the leather bound book from his back pocket.

"Let me read some of it." Sattilde said, taking the book from Brynjolf. As they walked, Sattilde flipped through the worn pages, but it was encrypted, just as Karliah had said. The letters were foreign indeed; it looked like Daedric cursive, but the letters were all wrong. Each one shaped like a curved blade, with a lot of accent markings, dashes, and dots.

"What is this language?" Sattilde showed Brynjolf the inside of the journal.

"What in Gods..." Brynjolf studied the strange symbols, "I haven't a clue lass, but hopefully Enthir does."

Sattilde stored the journal into the breast pocket of her armor. They passed Whistling Mine when Brynjolf cheerfully sang, "Only a bit further."

"Brynjolf..."

"What is it, lass?"

"Brynjolf, I need to confess something to you." Sattilde hesitated, fearing his reaction, but decided this would be the best time.

"That you love me? I already know." Brynjolf jested.

"I visited the Greybeards." She dared not look in his face.

"You what?" he didn't sound angry, nor concerned, rather curious.

"On my way back from Solitude, a man in Whiterun said the Dragonborn didn't care about their destiny or the fate of the world, otherwise they would have visited the Greybeards after the attack on Helgen."

Brynjolf let out a sigh, but not of disappointment, but of understanding, "You shouldn't worry about what drunk men say in bars. That's how you find yourself tangled with something you don't want to be involved with, lass." Brynjolf turned her face to his with his free hand, "You're all right though?"

Sattilde nodded, "After the incident with the mountain, and the incident with Mercer-"

"Did something happen on the mountain?"

"Well, I tried to use my thu'um, but... it didn't go as plan and I nearly plunged myself to my death."

Brynjolf didn't react though.

 _Is he worn out from everything that transpired or is he really upset with me?_ Sattilde couldn't find any kind of expression in his face.

"Normally, I suppose I'd be upset with this, and maybe I would be if I were there with you. However, you're alive, you're okay." he patted her chest as she had done before she departed for Solitude, but before she felt uplifted, he sternly said, "But try to be more careful next time."

"So you're not upset about my secret adventure?"

"Well, a couple of days ago, I would have been, and if you had told me you almost fell off the mountain, I'd probably be overcome with rage, but," he looked at her, "You handled yourself well in the tomb, and my reaction shouldn't cloud your decision to fulfill your calling as the Dragonborn."

"To be honest, Bryn, I never thought about my responsibility until that drunk man made his comment. But he was right though; I need to take this more seriously and really perfect my thu'um." She said with determination in her eyes.

Brynjolf grabbed his wound, panting at the pain he felt.

"Do we need to stop for a minute?" Sattilde offered.

"No, just... maybe slow the pace a bit, lass?"

"Maybe a song would help take your mind off the pain?"

Brynjolf nodded. Sattilde remembered an old song her mother used to sing when she did monotonous chores such as cleaning or washing clothes.

 _When the ground is covered with the dead_  
 _When we have no place for our heads_  
 _When there's no more drink, jam, nor bread_  
 _Please repeat those words you said_

 _Tell me you love me, dearly, see_  
 _For when I'm feeling dreadfully empty_  
 _For when I'm feeling lonely_  
 _I'll need your words to guide me_

 _When the ground is covered with the dead_  
 _When we have no place for our heads_  
 _When there's no more drink, jam, nor bread_  
 _Please repeat those words you said_

 _I can't see clearly anymore, my love_  
 _I feel as if I'm slipping away_  
 _Please remember what I said_  
 _Sovngarde is calling me now._

"You couldn't have picked a more... cheery song?" Brynjolf bellowed with laughter when she finished.

"I'm sorry, it's the only one that came to mind." suddenly realizing the irony in her song choice. "It really is a beautiful tune. My mother used to sing it when doing chores around the house. Of course, she was able to sing it far better than I."

"Your singing is fine." Brynjolf managed through the pain. "And look," he pointed ahead, "it brought us to Winterhold."

The evening sunset shone brightly in west, setting for the night, casting a long shadow on the few homes that made up Winterhold. On the horizon, perched precariously on the inverted pyramid of rocks, loomed the College of Winterhold, a much distrusted organization. Some of the Nords called it the Mages Guild, others referred to it as the College. Either way, most Nords shunned the place as they were skeptical of magic and sorcery, and after the Great Collapse, their fear of the College intensified when the College remained mostly unscathed.

Sattilde had been to the college about three months before, to steal an artifact from the one of the teachers, and had been a couple more times before then. The barren town consisted of a couple of abandoned houses, an inn, and a failing merchant's store. In the year 122, the Sea of Ghosts crashed in to the side of the cliff, waves so strong, that most of the city fell to the water below, thus naming the incident "The Great Collapse." No one really knows if the College was involved or if they could have prevented the attack, but it caused an even greater rift with the Nords and the mages.

"Let's stop by the inn first and rest a bit." Brynjolf suggested. They came upon the quaint city, the snow flurries had started pouring from the sky, making it hard for them to see past their noses. They pushed their way against the wind to Frozen Hearth Inn at the left and a gust of warmth blew into their faces. A rectangular hearth, warming tea and roasting meat, heated the room. The inn was quite smaller than most other bedding places in Skyrim. They approached the fire, taking a seat at one of the many armchairs circling around it. The counter at the right of the room had stern looking, blond Nord tending to used mugs. He barely acknowledged the new customers entering the inn.

Sattilde helped Brynjolf find his seat, an exasperated sigh as he finally leaned back into the driftwood chair. It shook as he sat like it would fall apart if he made a sudden wrong move. Sattilde sat by him, scooting her chair closer to the flame, and warming her fingerless gloved hands.

"Cold out there." a Bosmer joined them with a wooden plate decorated with pink smoked salmon and grilled leeks. He sat his mug on the edge of the hearth and then plopped down in the chair next to Sattilde and began filling his face with his food. "I'm Enthir, by the way. Not many visitors come to Winterhold." He said, his mouth full of food. "What brings you here, anyways?"

Sattilde looked over at him, his sandy brown hair shaved and styled into a mohawk, his ears longer than most Bosmer, stretching all the way to the back of his head. His cheeks were flushed from the heat. He was wrapped in a freshly cleaned robe of a deep gray-blue, the sash a golden brown, the sleeves stretched all the way to his hands.

"Well... you, actually. I'm Sattilde and this is Brynjolf." Sattilde introduced, motioning to a writhing Brynjolf beside her. "I've been sent by Karliah."

Enthir coughed, choking on his food, "Karliah?"

Sattilde nodded.

"Then she's finally found it." he swallowed, still in disbelief. "Do you have it?"

"The journal?"

"Yes, yes." Enthir said eagerly.

Sattilde reached into her pocket, "Yes, but there's a bit of a, uh, problem." She handed the diary to Enthir.

"Let me see it." he opened the journal and shook his head, clicking his tongue. "This is just like Gallus. A dear friend, but always too clever for his own good." he took another bite of his fish as he continued to study the symbols. "He's written all of the text in the Falmer language."

The Falmer. Horrible creatures with a depressing history. Sattilde remembered reading a text called "The Falmer - A Study" that went into depth about their history.

They were the ancient descendants of the Snow Elves who inhabited Skyrim ages ago. They had a formed an alliance with the Dwemer, who at this time, were extinct. During the Merethic Era when the Snow Elves warred with the Atmora (the ancient peoples of Tamriel), they called upon their ally, the Dwemer, for aid, who allowed them to take refuge in their towers, but at a price: their sight. The Snow Elves who agreed to this bargain were forced to consume a toxic fungi rendering them blind, thus becoming "The Betrayed" or "Falmer," as they were known across Skyrim. They became enslaved by the Dwemer, tortured and beaten. The Betrayed rebelled against the Dwemer, a War that became known as the War of the Crag, and ended after the Dwemer race vanished from Nirn forever. The Falmer, however, continued to inhabit the Dwemer ruins that were scattered across Skyrim, and they were a vicious group of once-elves.

"Can you translate it?" Sattilde asked.

"No, however, I know someone who might." Enthir took a swig of his drink, which looked to be some sort of brandy. "The court wizard of Markarth, Calcelmo, may have the materials you need to get this journal translated."

"Markarth?" Brynjolf sat up, "But that's all the way on the other side of Skyrim!" he grunted.

Enthir shrugged, "You don't have much of a choice." he took a bite of his celery, "A word of warning. Calcelmo is a fierce guardian of his research. He'll have his museum closely guarded. Getting the information won't be easy." Enthir took notice of Brynjolf gripping his stab wound. "I know a Quick Healing spell to patch that wound." he offered through bites.

"Anything." Brynjolf pleaded.

Enthir rose, placing his platter of food on the cushion of his chair, and walked behind Sattilde to reach Brynjolf. Brynjolf removed his armor and Enthir undressed the bandage, revealing a deep cut, crusted in mostly dry blood.

"All right, just hold still, Brynjolf." He clenched his fists, then opened his palms, an orb of healing like a golden star hummed, breathing in his hands. He placed his hands diagonally across the wound, a pool of yellowish light mixed with the blood, turning it orange. It swirled a bit and then the skin suddenly stretched across, fusing both ends of the gash together, until Brynjolf's stomach appeared to have never undergone damage at all.

"There." the spell faded from Enthir's hands, "That should do it. How do you feel?"

Brynjolf examined the area, running a couple of fingers over the clean, healed skin, "Wow! That's impressive. I feel much better. Thank you!" Brynjolf said, slipping back into his armor.

Enthir returned to his seat, setting his plate in his lap again, "I was devastated when Gallus was killed. He was a dear friend of mine and a surprisingly astute pupil of academia."

"Gallus was a scholar?" Brynjolf said with astonishment.

Enthir laughed, "Well, he was quite clear that he felt more in his element climbing through a window rather than hunched over a dusty tome."

"How did you meet him, Enthir?" Brynjolf asked.

Enthir chuckled as he swallowed another bite of food, "Ah yes, quite an amusing anecdote actually. I caught him trying to break into my laboratory. I was about to show him the error of his ways when he made a curiously astute comment about my research notes."

Brynjolf bellowed with laughter, "What did you do then?"

"I was astounded!" Enthir joined in Brynjolf's amusement, "His comment lead to into a very scholarly conversation. Who'd have imagined it would turn into such a strong friendship?"

A question gnawed at Sattilde though and she interrupted their laughing, "Why did Gallus scribe his journal in Falmer?"

Enthir cleared his throat, putting away any remaining laughs, and in a serious tone said, "Besides the fact that there are only a handful of people in Tamriel that even recognize the language? I'm fairly certain he was planning some sort of heist that involved a deep understanding of the Falmer dialect."

"Where do you think he acquired the knowledge to use it?" Sattilde asked.

"Ironically," Enthir took a sip of his brandy, "I pointed him in the same direction I pointed you. To Markarth and Calcelmo. I'm only hoping whatever means he used to learn the language will still be available to you."

"And where would this information be at in Markarth?"

"Ah, yes." Enthir focused on cutting his fish, "Calcelmo has started an excavation there in the city. I'm sure if you got the key off of him and snooped around a bit, you'd find something useful. If you want my educated input, I'd say it would be deep into the museum. He wouldn't keep his research findings so close to the entrance." He stabbed a chunk of flaky fish and shoved it in his mouth. He had cleaned his plate and wiped his mouth with a rag, he grabbed his mug off the floor, and bowed to them. "I need to head back to the College. Return to Winterhold with your findings and we'll see what we can do." He walked over to the counter, and after setting down his dirtied dishes, tossed a few gold coins to the innkeeper, then waved good-bye to Sattilde and Brynjolf.

"I never knew that about Gallus." Brynjolf had his elbows on his thighs.

"I wish I knew him at all." Sattilde said, disappointed she never got the chance to meet him. "He sounded like an extraordinary person."

Brynjolf smiled warmly, "He was."

After a reflective pause, Brynjolf stood, a fresh wave of energy from his healed body, he helped Sattilde to her feet with a hand, "That fish smelled amazing. Let's get some and stay here for the night. We'll head to Markarth come morn."

Just as planned, Brynjolf and Sattilde awoke before the first break of light. They both enjoyed hot bowls of chowder with fresh celery and clams. The food revitalized their weary legs and tired souls. After a few glasses of water, they set off again into the wilds of Skyrim.

"We probably won't reach Whiterun until tonight." Brynjolf warned. "If you don't mind traveling during the late night, there's an inn halfway between Whiterun and Markarth, Old Hroldan."

"Mm, we'll see how we feel when we reach Whiterun. I suppose." Sattilde suggested. "I kind of wish Mercer hadn't taken the horses."

"I kind of wish Mercer hadn't done a lot of things." Brynjolf replied begrudgingly.

"I feel... sad... for Karliah." Sattilde said, watching her feet crunch in the snow. "I don't know what I would do if someone murdered you for their own personal... whatever it is Mercer planned to gain from this."

"Speaking of which," Brynjolf said inquisitively. "Did you notice that tool Mercer had at the tomb?"

Sattilde glanced at Brynjolf, "Yes! What was that thing?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, but I have a feeling it's one of the reasons Mercer killed Gallus."

The walk to Whiterun took several hours, and after they passed by the Loreius Farm, it was already nightfall. Loreius Farm was situated just north of Whiterun, a couple of miles away. It was one of the many farms that surrounded the city, as there wasn't much farmland available inside the walls due to the raised patch of land it had been settled upon. As they followed the road, nearing the city's backside, they saw a carriage on the side of the road.

"Hey, maybe it's a carriage driver. Let's see if they'll give us a lift to Old Hroldan inn." Brynjolf and Sattilde hurried ahead, only to find the carriage had a crate jutting out of the bed and a wheel broken off, lying flat in the road.

The horse hitched to it stomped his feet upon their approach alerting the owner who rounded the opposite side of the carriage. It was an Imperial dressed in amber and black striped jester clothes with black epaulets. His gloves and boots also black and his pants a solid amber color. His similarly colored jester hat had two pointed ends, striped with black hung behind his head, his hair tucked completely underneath of it.

He had barely noticed them as he inspected his broken carriage, "Agh! Bother and befuddle!" he threw his hands up, "Stuck here! Stuck! My mother, my poor mother." he ran a gloved hand over the box in the back, "Unmoving. At rest, but too still!"

Brynjolf and Sattilde exchanged a look of confusion.

"Is there a problem?" Sattilde asked, startling the man. He turned and took notice of the company.

"Poor Cicero is stuck. Can't you see?" he gestured at the broken wheel, "I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not her. Her corpse! She's quite dead." he giggled manically at this.

Brynjolf felt uneasy at these words and stepped slightly in front of Sattilde.

Cicero continued, "I'm taking Mother to a new home. A new crypt. But... AGH! Wagon wheel! It broke! Don't you see?!" he gestured more violently toward the wheel lying on the ground.

"Is there some way we could help?" Brynjolf offered uneasily, making sure to keep Cicero and Sattilde separated.

"Oh!" Cicero clapped his hands, "Oh yes! Yes! The kindly strangers can certainly help!" he danced about, stomping his feet and doing a spin. Brynjolf and Sattilde looked at each other again, feeling quite unsettled, but also trying to contain their laughter at the peculiar jester, Cicero.

"Go to the farm-the Loreius Farm! Just over there, off the road." He pointed up the hill behind his wagon where Brynjolf and Sattilde could see a farmhouse at the top. "Talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me!" Cicero's wide, toothy grin instantly became a snarling, fanged frown. "But he won't! He refuses!" he growled through gritted teeth. "Convince Loreius to fix my wheel and Cicero will reward you. With coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!" he clasped his gloved hands together.

"Alright, Cicero. We'll help." Brynjolf grabbed hold of Sattilde's hand and led her up the hill. Once they were out of earshot of Cicero, he looked at her and stated gravely, "That man gives me the creeps, Sattilde. I don't trust him."

"Well, he was eccentric, but he doesn't seem harmful." Sattilde tried to reassure him, but Brynjolf shook his head.

"No, there's something off... about that man."

They reached the farmhouse, where on the uncovered porch an Imperial was sweeping dust and leaves.

"Oh for the love of Mara!" he cried in aggravation, "What now?"

"The, um," Brynjolf looked back to Cicero who continued to inspect his cart, "little man needs your help. With his wagon?"

"That Cicero fellow?" Loreius stopped sweeping, "Hmph. Tell me something I don't know. Crazy fool's already asked me about five times. Seems he's not satisfied with my answer." he seethed. "Why can't he just leave us alone?"

"So what's the problem?" Sattilde interjected. "I'm sure he'll pay you."

"Pay me?!" Loreius scoffed, "You think this is about money?"

"Well I-" Sattilde started.

"Have you seen the man? He's completely out of his head! A jester? Here, in Skyrim? Ain't been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years!" Loreius squinted at the wagon below, "And he's transporting some giant box. Says it's a coffin, and he's going to... bury his mother?" Loreius scoffed again, "Mother my eye!" He shook his head violently and resumed his sweeping.

"But he-" Sattilde started again, but Brynjolf interrupted her.

"You do have a point. What can we do to help?"

Sattilde glanced daggers at Brynjolf.

"Well," Loreius looked up from his sweeping, "There's a guard, patrols the road that crazy jester is on. He passes by pretty often. You could report the fool. You know, say he's done something against the law. That will at least get rid of him for me."

"He's a stranger who needs assistance. Please, do the right thing!" Sattilde interrupted, rather loudly.

"What?" Loreius frowned at Sattilde, looking her up and down. "And just who in Mara's name are you, anyway? Coming here, telling me my business. And for what? To help a... a... a fool?! He could have anything in that box. War contraband. Weapons. Skooma! Ain't no way I'm getting involved in any of that."

"We understand," Brynjolf glanced a disapproving look at Sattilde, "We'll inform the guard and get out of your way."

"Ha! Wonderful! I'll grab a few coins for the trouble." He quickly rushed inside his house and came back, tossing a very large coinpouch to Brynjolf. "750 gold coins, count them if ya want! Thank you, sir!" Then he continued to his sweeping.

Brynjolf and Sattilde walked down back to the road.

"What in Nirn was that?!" Sattilde asked in agitation. "Cicero did nothing to you! Why wouldn't you help him?"

"Lorieus is right though." Brynjolf reminded her, stuffing the very full pouch into Sattilde's pack on her back. "The man is off his rocker."

"I've got a worse feeling about doing this than I do about Cicero." Sattilde shook her head.

They passed by Cicero, who was under the wagon at this point, inspecting the spokes. They found a guard further up the road and flagged him down.

"What is it, citizen?" the guard asked, his voice muffled by his helmet.

"Yes, the man with the broken cart. We think he may have something illegal inside the box. You may want to check it out." Brynjolf informed.

"Alright, I'll do that. Thank you." the guard jogged over to Cicero, "You there! Fool! Hold fast!" they heard him call, "You've been accused of a crime against the laws of this land."

Cicero emerged from underneath his wagon and stood beside his wagon, dismayed at the guard's words, "Wh... what? A crime? Me?"

"What say you in your defense?" the guard asked as he approached the jester.

"Presposterous! Poor Cicero is just standing here! Cicero loves order! Oh yes, he would never disrespect the law!" he insisted, looking behind the guard at Brynjolf and Sattilde.

"You look like a crazy man to me. And what's in that coffin, hmm? Maybe some time in a cell will help loosen that lying tongue." The guard revealed some wrist shackles, latching them to Cicero.

"Damn you!" he shook a fist at Brynjolf and Sattilde before the guard yanked it behind his back, locking it in the iron shackle. "Oh, you will pay for this treachery." His gleeful eyes burning with a murderous rage, his friendly crooked smile twisting into a maniacal snarl.

"You just keep quiet." The guard ordered after he had the shackles locked and fitted. "Stay where you are. As soon as my relief arrives, we'll all take a nice little trip."

Brynjolf and Sattilde continued on their way, Sattilde tossing a scowl at Brynjolf.

"Unfair!" they heard Cicero cry, "Unjust!" his voice trailing off as they walked further away.

"I hope you're happy." Sattilde folded her arms. "I've got a feeling this isn't the last we'll see of Cicero."

"Even so, we've got enough money for the trip to Markarth and back."

"We had enough even without accusing someone of a crime." Sattilde retorted.

"Well, if anything happens, you can just blame me then." Brynjolf chuckled lightly, but Sattilde didn't join in his laughing. She knew this wasn't the end.

They reached Whiterun around the eleventh hour and found their way into the city, deciding they were too tired to continue to Markarth. They paid for a room at the Bannered Mare and after dinner, they resigned to their shared bed. They fell asleep in each other's arms and then woke the next morning to the dim light of dawn. They didn't bother ordering breakfast, as Hulda wasn't tending the counter. They were on the road by first light, and by noon, they had made their way to Old Hroldan inn, following the Karth river west that would eventually make a stop at Markarth.

Markarth was another city Sattilde had never visited, but heard it was a mining city, known for its Dwemer architecture (as it was once inhabited by the Dwemer) and rich silver mines. They winded up the road past the stables where the horses whinnied in delight and they made their way up the wide stairs to the stone walls. Dwemer centurion faces had been carved into the stonework. The frieze above the entablatures were mostly circular and arched, less artistic than it was functional. The entrance doors of the city were crafted with dwarven metal and it shone a bronze color against the brazier flames.

"Welcome to Markarth!" The guard at the entryway announced, "Safest city in the Reach!"

Brynjolf and Sattilde pushed past the metal doors into the marketplace. A shallow stream flowed in the middle of the street, down to Cidhna Mine, which doubled as a prison where the lawbreakers mined silver ore. There was a meat stand and a jewelry stand in front of the entrance, a woman in a light blue dress bargained with one of the merchants for a necklace.

A man standing at the meat stall, sweating profusely, his eyes darting about, finally turned, pulled a dagger, and stabbed the woman in the dress, grabbing her by the neck. She screamed and then gasped at the blade. The man dropped the body to the rock path.  
"The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!" he proclaimed as a guard shot a quick arrow into his chest.

"I die for my people." he sputtered then he tumbled backwards, lying next to the dead woman, both bleeding a trail of blood down between the cracks in the rocks.

"Safest city in the Reach, huh?" Brynjolf looked back at the guard through the open city doors. People had started screaming, scrambling about the marketplace at the witness of the murder.

"Everyone stay back! The Markarth city guard have this all under control. There are no Forsworn here." The guards gathered around, forcing people away from the bodies. There were murmurings and then a man dressed in miner's clothes rushed up to Sattilde and Brynjolf.

"Gods. A woman attacked right on the streets." He breathed. "Are you all right? Did you see what happened?"

"Yes." Sattilde said, "The man just attacked her. Stabbed her in the back."

"I'm so sorry." the man said, as if it were his fault, "I hope the Eight give you more peace with your future endeavors in Markarth." As he turned to walk away, he tossed a letter to the ground between him and Sattilde. "Oh, I think you dropped this." He said picking it back up and pushing it towards Sattilde. "Some kind of note. Looks important."

Sattilde raised an eyebrow, but had no choice but to take the parchment, "Wait, what is this?" But the man scurried off down toward the mine, disappearing to the right.

Brynjolf looked at the note in her hands, "What's it say, lass?" Sattilde opened it up:

 _Meet me at the Shrine of Talos_

She looked at Brynjolf as to what they should do, "What do you think, Bryn?"

"A murdered woman? I don't know, Sattilde. I don't think we should get mixed up in this."

"But a _murdered woman_. These people may need our help."

"Mm." After much deliberation, he complied, "Okay. We'll do it your way, lass. But where is the Shrine of Talos?"

Sattilde glanced to her right, a path led upward to houses above, dug out of the mountainside. Straight ahead was a street leading up to the Jarl's palace. To the left, where the man had fled, a slope downward led to the mines and blacksmith. Above, walkways crossed over the street below, but there appeared to be more buildings above the inn at the left.

"Let's try up there." she pointed upward.

"Alright, lass. Lead the way."

Sattilde tucked the note into her back pocket and the followed the streets leading to the upper level of the city. They passed by what they correctly assumed to be houses and crossed over the walkway. They turned to the right when they were above the inn, and then turned a corner to the left, where another dwarven metal door had two stonework pillars on either side. They both appeared fairly new and much different in architectural style than the rest of the city.

The pillar on the left depicted a high relief of a man in a winged helmet, a cloak draped over his shoulders, adorning the armor of the Emperor, a sandaled foot outstretched at the right. His foot stepped on the body of a snake, striking at him with its fanged mouth opened wide. The man's hands came together in front of his chest with a downward facing blade hovering above the snake's head.

The pillar on the right depicted a mid-relief of the symbol of Talos; an upside down arch attached to an axe-blade shape, and that attached to the shape of a blade in a pedestal. The blade and arch textured like snake skin. Above the symbol in serif lettering, a sign read, "Shrine of Talos."

"I think this is the place." Brynjolf said, and they approached the double doors. In the temple, a low paved slope led them to the dark shrine, a similar looking statue and altar from the ones beside the entrance were in the center of the holy place, dozens of candles surrounded them; it was the only light in the room.

From the shadows of the temple, the man, who dropped the letter appeared, "I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems," his voice was breathy, like he was being chased, "but after the attack in the market, I'm running out of time."

"What are you talking about?" Sattilde asked, unable to see the man's face.

"You want answers?" he suddenly sounded hostile, "Well so do I. So does everyone in this city! A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a Forsworn agent. Guards do nothing. Nothing but clean up the mess."

"I'm assuming you want us to find out why, but we don't even know your name, so why should we help you?" Brynjolf asked.

"My name is Eltrys," and he sighed, "This has been going on for years. And all I've been able to find is murder and blood. I need help." he begged. "Please. You two find out why that woman was attacked, who's behind Weylin and the Forsworn, and I'll pay you for any information you bring me."

Brynjolf looked to Sattilde, and though he couldn't see her in the lightless temple, he knew she was nodding, most likely without hesitation.

"Alright." Brynjolf said, seeing how Sattilde wasn't going to change her mind. "We'll help."

"What do you know about the woman who was killed?" Sattilde asked.

"She wasn't from Markarth. The air about her screamed 'outsider.' Visitors to the city usually stay at the Silver-Blood Inn."

"You mentioned a 'Weylin'? Who is that?" Sattilde asked.

"He was one of the smelter workers. I used to have a job down there myself, casting silver ingots. I never knew much about Wyelin, except he lives in the Warrens, like all the other workers. It's across from Cidhna Mine."

"All right. Thank you, Eltrys. We'll see what we can find out." Sattilde nodded.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Sattilde and Brynjolf returned to the city and Brynjolf, finally able to see Sattilde's face again, suggested, "We should start at the inn. Make it look like we're just renting a room for the night."

"Eltrys definitely scoped out the right people to help him." Sattilde grinned up at Brynjolf as they made their way back down to the lower level of the city. "A couple of thieves going undercover? We'll have this mystery solved in no time."

Brynjolf laughed, "Undercover thieves, eh? So would that make us completely invisible?"

Sattilde laughed with him, arriving at the inn near the front of the city. Inside, they found a Dwemer style fireplace at the back. A couple of men were sitting in front of the warmth, sipping their ale. There were four halls on each side of the inn that led to the bedrooms with dwarven metal doors, much like the rest of the city. Toward the entrance, a balding Nord with an apron tied too tight around his bulging gut, welcomed them from behind a 'U' shaped counter.

"We need a room for the night, my good sir." Brynjolf smiled, tossing 40 coins the innkeeper's way.

"Not a problem! A room just opened up. I haven't had the chance to clean out all of the belongings yet, but it should do just fine if you don't mind it."

"That sounds quite alright with us." Brynjolf smiled, Sattilde equally showing her apathy at an unkept room, trying to hide her delight in being rented the murdered woman's room.

"Alright then! It's just up those steps." He turned and pointed to the left behind him, "It's the door on the end."

"Thank you." Sattilde smiled finally and after the man handed them their room key.

They headed inside to find the place just as any other inn room: a bed as soon as one entered, a dresser to the left, a nightstand to the right, and a dining area just right of the nightstand. There were some women's clothing folded and stacked on top of the dresser, topped off with some women's boots.

"Shut the door." Sattilde told Brynjolf. "Let's look around. I'm sure she had more than just clothes with her." Sattilde whispered as she began searching the top dresser drawer.

Brynjolf searched under the bed and the bed mattress. Every dresser drawer was empty for Sattilde, so she turned attention to the nightstand, all of which were empty as well. There were no other containers in sight.

"Nothing." Brynjolf said as he looked underneath the pillow.

Sattilde pushed the nightstand drawer back, but it got caught on something. She lifted it just a smidge and then she was able to push it closed.

"Wait..." She opened the drawer again and knelt to the floor, looking under the tabletop of the nightstand, where someone had nailed in leather straps to the top. When unfastened, a journal dropped into the drawer.

"Aha!" Sattilde lifted it from its hiding place and opened it up:

 _Meeting at the Treasure House later today. Took them long enough. These people act like they own everything._

 _Thonar Silver-Blood is the younger brother, but he's obviously the one in charge. Makes all the deals, bullies local landowners into selling to him. Even employs that wispy girl at the door to deter "trouble-makers" like me._

 _General Tullius is growing impatient, but I'll bring back the deed to Cidhna Mine. On my life, I won't allow a group of Stormcloak sympathizers to own the prison to the most notorious criminals of the Reach. They say no one escapes. Why? Is it really that secure?_

 _Maybe I've played my hand too soon by rushing the confrontation with Thonar. There are shadows around every corner in this city, and I know I'm being watched._

Sattilde slammed the book shut and jammed it into her bag, "Thonar Silver-Blood. We need to visit him next I think. It also appears that this woman was an agent for the Imperial Legion."

"Hm... does it say where we could find this 'Thonar?'" Brynjolf asked.

"The Treasury House might be a good place to start, judging by the journal's contents."

They went to the innkeeper again, but this time with a question, rather than a request,

"Where is the Treasury House?" Sattilde asked.

"Hm? Why do you want to know where that is?" he asked with a eerily frightened look on his face.

"My business is my own." Sattilde replied authoritatively.

"All right, calm down. I didn't mean to pry. It's up the street a ways, on the second level. One of the doors at the end. Easy to see."

"Thank you." Sattilde and Brynjolf turned to leave, doing as instructed, they soon found themselves at the Treasury House, on the right side of the street. Once inside, they skipped a few steps to the counter below. A very fetching young woman with golden brown hair tossed across her shoulders, did little more than greet them, "The Treasury House is really just for patrons of the Silver-Blood family. You don't belong here."

"I need to see Thonar." Sattilde requested.

"I'm afraid he's asked not to be disturbed." she looked beyond Sattilde to Brynjolf, "He has important business." she said, leaning over the counter, her Amulet of Mara swinging back and forth in front of her breasts. Her eyes darting every so often to Brynjolf.

"He's expecting me." Sattilde lied, becoming more agitated with every glance the woman made at Brynjolf.

"No. He isn't." the woman said snidely, taking another quick lustful glance at Brynjolf.

"Look at my lover again and I'll pummel you. Now, I wasn't asking to see Thonar. I was telling you." Sattilde could feel her heart thumping in her chest, her fists shaking at her sides.

The woman's eyes suddenly filled with a terror, she tripped over her words, "G-go... go right ahead then. Don't let me keep you." Her face burning red with embarrassment, the woman went back to organizing some documents at the counter.

Sattilde stepped to the left with a very impressed Brynjolf to her right, "Wow. You really let her have it, Sattilde. I've never seen you so jealous before." Brynjolf was flattered, but also very stunned.

"I just can't stand women like that." Sattilde adjusted her blade belt on her hip. They passed by an elderly woman and man, one was sweeping, one was dusting the various knick-knacks shelved around the House.

They turned to the right, going back behind the counter to double doors up some steps. Inside they found Thonar at a fully set dining table, a lit fireplace to the right, with a pot of stew simmering. The table was decorated with a platter of cheeses, bowls of fruit at the opposite end, a plate of pork tenderloin, spicy beet salad, and mashed potatoes placed in front of Thonar. There were a variety of breads at the end closest to Sattilde and Brynjolf, as well as a few choices of wine next to his goblet.

He immediately noticed the two of them,"What are you doing here? I told them no visitors." His tone may have been frustrated, but his voice was weary and frail.

"I'm here to talk about Margret." Sattilde said, stepping into the room.

"The Imperial agent?"

Sattilde confirmed, but thrown for a loop that he knew she was working for Tullius.

"That's right," he said, taking his knife and fork and cutting a cube from the mostly eaten pork, "I knew. How many dogs is the Empire going to send after me?" He scraped the meat into his mouth and after he swallowed, he said, "This is my business. _My_ city. You Empire lovers should learn to stay out of it."

"First off, I don't care about either the Stormcloaks or the Empire. I think they're both dimwitted egomaniacs with something to prove."

"Well either-"

Just then, a ruckus came from behind in the main hall; an explosion of fire and smoke at the base of the stairs were all Sattilde could make out before Thonar shoved her out of the way, shouting, "Beltrid! My wife!"

Sattilde and Brynjolf rushed behind him, following him down the steps, where the elderly cleaners were summoning fireballs and lightning spells. A body could be seen from behind the counter, a woman, Beltrid. Sattilde retrieved her bow, firing a killing shot into the elderly woman who had readied another fireball aimed at Thonar. The elderly man no longer dusting, but had two blue orbs in his hands; the light they emitted surrounded Beltrid's body and her lifeless corpse began to hover above the floor. The spell forced her to stand and her eyes glowed an indigo color, targeting Thonar.

"Look out!" Sattilde tackled Thonar to the floor while Brynjolf charged straight to the source, the elderly man, pushing all of his weight into the man until he fell backwards. He slit the man's throat, causing the resurrection spell to die. Beltrid exploded into ash, falling like snow to the floor of the Treasury House. Thonar pushed Sattilde off of him, sobbing uncontrollably as he scooped up his wife's remains between his fingertips.

He looked to Sattilde through tear flooded eyes, "They killed her." he sobbed. "My wife! Damn Madanach! Damn his Forsworn backside!"

"Are you ready to talk now?" Sattilde's patience had run thin. They were getting nowhere, and had nothing to show for it except two dead bodies at this point.

"Fine. You want to know what the Forsworn really are?" He lifted himself up from his wife's remains, "They're my puppets. I have their 'king' rotting in Cidhna Mine. He was supposed to keep them under control."

"Their king?" Brynjolf interjected.

"Madanach." Thonar begrudgingly stated. "The King in Rags." he mocked, "While we were off fighting the Elves in the Great War, Madanach was busy ruling over the Reach. Until Ulfric came and put them down. When their uprising was crushed, I had Madanach brought to me. He was a wild animal, but a useful one. I offered him a stay from execution if he used his influence to deal with any annoyances that came up. Competitors, agents, idiots." Thonar wiped the tears from his eyes, leaving a trace of ash, "So I've let him run his little Forsworn rebellion from inside Cidhna Mine. Now he's out of control."

"We're going to try to fix this, Thonar." Sattilde said.

"You've already got what you wanted, you hound. This is your fault. You and Madanach are animals, and I'll see the three of you rot to death in Cidhna Mine. Now get out of my house!" he shouted, pointing a shaky finger to the door.

Sattilde and Brynjolf did as they were told and departed from Thonar's house, only to be approached by a Markarth guard.

"You." he said, rather viciously, "I've seen the two of you snooping around. Asking questions."

Sattilde opened her mouth to speak, but he barked, "Back off. You don't want to know what happens to trouble-makers here."

"We're not trying to cause trouble." Sattilde finally got out.

"You're finding it. That's bad enough." he retorted, "This is your last warning, outsider. We keep the peace here. Stay out of our business." Then he marched off, watching them until his neck could no longer turn around far enough to stare.

"What is going on in this town, Brynjolf?!" Sattilde turned suddenly to him.

"I haven't been to Markarth in a few years, but I see it's gotten much, much worse." Brynjolf pushed the subject, "Let's get down to the Warrens, before anymore guards show up."

Going straight across the walkway, passing under the archway near Understone Keep, they veered to the left, following stairs that twisted downward, close to the river. At the left, at the very end of the walkway, they found the entrance to the Warrens. It was a very poorly kept place for the weary miners to sleep. Most of the floor was dirt, instead of pavement, and some of the bedrooms had jail cells for walls and doors, as if the builders ran out of dwarven metal.

"Quite an eyesore." Brynjolf commented.

Under the first archway, they found an auburn Breton leaning up against the wall, dressed in torn rags with his arms folded. He squinted at them, a certain kind of judgmental look Sattilde had never quite seen before, from anyone.

"Warrens ain't for you. Trust me." he spat.

"And why's that?" Sattilde asked snidely.

"Welcome to Markarth, traveler." he said facetiously. "Thank the Divines you can choose to live somewhere else. Laborers. The sick. The lame. We're all here in the Warrens."

Sattilde had never been considered a lucky person: losing her parents at the young age of 20, running around with a band of thieves, living in one of the more politically corrupted cities in Skyrim, and never really having a decent, honest job. These weren't the things she'd list to consider a person lucky. This man knew nothing about her or her personal life, but somehow, she felt she knew a little about his already.

"If you help me, maybe I can help you." Sattilde offered.

"Ha! I wish, outsider. But you can certainly try."

"Well, did you know Weylin?"

"Oh, yes. I know everyone who sleeps in the Warrens. Kind of the one who passes the keys around. I guess someone else will be taking his room now, though."

"Could I have the key to Weylin's room?"

He shook his head, "Sorry, but as I've already said, you don't exactly... belong here."

"It's important that I have that key so I can help you." Sattilde persuaded.

"Well..." he considered, "trust is hard to come by here, so all right." He reached into what Sattilde had originally thought was a rip, but now realized, it was a pocket. He pulled out a surprisingly large key. "Weylin's room is the last one on the right."

"Thank you." Sattilde took the key, and after passing several people sitting in the dirt, some coughing, one moaning at a gash in his thigh, they reached the end of the tunnel way. Weylin's room was little more than a dirt filled, caved in jail cell with a dwarven door, hanging off the top hinge. There was a mud stained bedroll with a miniature mountain of slag piled up beside it. Sattilde figured it was something Weylin collected during his time working the forges.

At the right of the room, against the wall, was a chest with a broken, off-set lid. It wasn't shut all the way, and when Sattilde lifted it, she found a pickaxe, a few gold pieces, and some food wrapped in linen. On top of it all was a note, folded in half.

She reached in and pulled out the paper and read its contents:

 _Weylin,_  
 _You've been chosen to strike fear in the heart of the Nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do._  
 _\- N_

"So he's the one who murdered the agent. I wonder who this 'N' person is though." Brynjolf had been peering over her shoulder to read the note.

"I'm not sure, but I think we're getting close to the end." Sattilde said hopefully, stuffing the letter into her back pocket with Eltrys's note. They sprinted out of the Warrens, hoping to meet up with Eltrys at the shrine, but they were stopped yet again by someone else. This time a burly Nord with a mohawk, obviously not a member of the guard.

"You've been digging around where you don't belong." he stated matter-of-factly. "It's time you learned a lesson." He stepped forward so Sattilde could see he was wearing all leather armor, a silver buckle the size of both her fists bringing all the straps together from his shoulders and waist. He brought his fists up to his face, stepping closer again.

"Let's go!" Brynjolf pushed Sattilde out of the way, bringing his fists up too. Sattilde watch Brynjolf duck as the Nord took the first swing; Brynjolf was like swift dancer on his feet, and watching him fight was like watching a ballet. He shuffled his feet to the right, sliding behind the Nord and grabbing him by the throat. He punched the man once in the cheek, but then released him when he saw the man's arms reaching back, trying to pick Brynjolf up and body slam him. He backed around to the front, the Nord spinning around, and when he faced Brynjolf straight on again, he was met with Brynjolf's giant, tightly clenched fist, two strikes to the nose. He stumbled backwards, holding his face, cussing all the way.

Brynjolf could tell he was getting mad and saw his next move before the man had even thought of it. The Nord bent over like a bull, kicking up dust from behind him. He charged at Brynjolf, who rolled to the left toward Sattilde, catching himself before he met the wall. The Nord didn't have time to stop though before he smashed into the door of the Warrens, shouting and moaning, holding his head with both of his hands. His mohawk was deflated and when he rolled over to his knees, still cradling his skull, Brynjolf pounced on him, flipping him on his back and holding him down by the throat.

"You mangy piece of pit-bait!" The Nord spat a wad of saliva at Brynjolf, who countered by punching him in the eye.

After Brynjolf wiped his cheek of the man's spit from his cheek, he roared, "Talk! Or I'll send you to the gods!" Hovering a sharp dagger above the man's eye.

"I was sent by Nepos the Nose!" the Nord cowered, "The old man hands out the orders. He told me to make sure you didn't get in the way. That's all I know! I swear!"

Brynjolf released the man, stepping off of him, and even helped him to his feet, "Good choice." he said. "Now, get lost!" The man sulked away quickly, disappearing up the stairs.

"Let's go find Eltrys. I think we have all the information needed for him to stop this Forsworn invasion." Sattilde said. They rushed back up the stairs, but this time turning a hard right and heading into the shrine.

When they entered, they saw a dead Eltrys lying across the altar to Talos, blood trickling down the sides of the round pedestal, down to the floor. Three guards were there and they approached Sattilde and Brynjolf with weapons drawn.

"We warned you," the first guard said. "but you just had to go and cause trouble. Now we have to pin all these recent murders on you."

"Silence witnesses." the second guard said.

"Work. Work. Work." the third one added.

"Why did you have to kill Eltrys?" Sattilde screamed, horrified. She couldn't remember the last time she saw guardsmen so corrupt as to kill an innocent citizen.

"We had a nice little deal going between Thonar and Madanach until you two and Eltrys started snooping around. Well, you wanted to find the man responsible for those killings? You'll have plenty of time with the King of Rags when you're in Cidhna Mine." the third guard explained.

"You're corrupt!" Brynjolf shouted.

The three guards closed in on them; the second wielding two sets of shackles, "Take it up with Madanach. I'm sure he and his Forsworn would love to meet you. Now, you're coming with us. It's a life sentence in the prison for you."

"You'll never see the sun again," the first guard foretold. "You hear me? No one escapes Cidhna Mine. No one."

* * *

"All right, prisoner. Eyes front." The female Orc guard, armored in steel, stood in front of the prison gate, locked with the biggest silver lock Sattilde had ever seen. "You're in Cidhna Mine now. And we expect you to earn your keep." She handed both Brynjolf and Sattilde a pickaxe. "There's no resting your hide in a cell in this prison. Here, you work. You'll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars. You got it?"

"When do we get out?" Brynjolf asked.

"You'll pay off your debt to the Reach. Just work and you'll earn your freedom." There was a sense of fallacy in her words.

She turned and unlocked the gate, thrusting both of them through it and then locking it back.

"Well now what?" Brynjolf whispered to his comrade.

"I guess we'll ask around. See if anyone knows the King of Rags (or where he is.)" They walked the natural cave path at the right down into the mine. There were ore deposits lining the walls and some in the ground. Across the mine, stood an Orc, his face painted with a white skull, standing guard, albeit shirtless, at a closed prison door.

"Let's ask him."

They went to the Orc who teased, "The new meat. So soft. Tender." He took his hands from his hips and crossed them in front of his chest. "What was it like killing your first one, huh?"

"Pardon? I'm not a murderer." Sattilde argued.

"Neither am I." Brynjolf added.

"Liars. The both of you."

"We need to see Madanach." Sattilde blurted out, not even sure if the "king" was behind the cell door.

"You want to talk to the King in Rags? Fine. But first you pay the toll."

"Toll?"

"Yeah, I need a new shiv. This one's getting dull." he motioned to a piece of scrap metal that had been sharpened into a blade.

"Madanach is expecting us."

"Hmph." He went to unlock the gate, "Fine. Go on in. But don't try anything in there. Madanach knows more than you think."

Sattilde and Brynjolf ignored the Orc and went through the mined out tunnels that curved and turned until they opened at the very end to a man writing at a desk to the right. He had luxurious fur bed, many different cheeses, meats, and wines in crates and barrels. Madanach didn't even look up from the letter he was penning.

"Well, well. Look at you. The Nords have turned you into an animal. A wild beast caged up and left to go mad. So, my fellow beast, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?" The way he asked seemed to imply that he could snap his fingers and make anything Sattilde desired come true, even at the expense of others. Sattilde was tired though; so very tired.

"I want freedom for all of Markarth."

"Freedom? Even if all of Markarth were free of my grip, all of their names would still be stained with all that blood. And you? You're one of us now, you see? A slave. The boot of the Nord stepping on your throat. Maybe if you understood that, I could help you."

"I suppose I'd rather be a slave than a snake, Madanach."

"A snake? Is that really what you think of me?" He finally looked up from his writing. His face was wrinkled, like leather left out too long to tan, and his hair was white, whiter than snow. He was weak, frail. Sattilde knew how she was going to end this madness.

"Yes, and I really think I'm going to enjoy severing your head from your slithering body." Sattilde tossed the pickaxe at Madanach, but he ducked his head down just in time; just in time for Brynjolf, who had been inching behind him during his entire speech, to pierce him in the back of his skull with his pickaxe. Madanach's head fell forward on the letter he'd been writing, drenching the parchment in red blood.

"What was that?" the shirtless Orc called from the tunnel entrance.

"Let's get out of here!" Brynjolf grabbed Sattilde's hand, leading her out of a newly mined tunnel and out into Markarth. It took them a good half hour following the long escape route before they emerged near the alchemist's shop from a well-hidden tunnel shaft. Brynjolf helped Sattilde to her freedom. Nightfall had arrived and with it, the two moons shining brightly in the sky, but only allowing a faint glow on the city.

"My eyes inside Cidhna Mine tell me that Madanach is dead. You've done a great service to the Silver-Blood family. I've had the Jarl officially pardon you two, and taken care of a few other loose ends."

"You had your sycophant guards throw us in jail."

"And you've proven that was the best move I could have made."

Sattilde dropped her jaw in dismay at his words; he acted as if he had been the one to find out all of the information for Eltrys this entire time.

"Don't give me that look. You're free to go. Here," he slipped a signet ring from his finger, "how about a little token for your efforts? My family's ring and, of course, all the things the guards confiscated from you two when you were jailed. They're in your room at the inn. Now," after he placed the ring in Sattilde's hand, "if you'll excuse me, I have to figure out how we're going to fill our recently emptied mine."

Sattilde shook her head as he walked away, "That man didn't learn anything I don't think." She examined the ring Thonar had gifted her; a band of solid silver. "Fitting." she scoffed.

"Hey, don't be too upset." Brynjolf smiled at her. "We're free and the people of Markarth are finally free from Madanach's shadow! That's something, Sattilde. That's amazing, actually."

Sattilde still had the bad taste in her mouth from all that happened, that kept her from celebrating, what appeared to her, to be such a meaningless accomplishment, "Eltrys is dead though, Brynjolf. That Imperial agent is dead. Beltrid is dead." She shoved the ring into her ragged pockets, "Sure, we saved the future of Markarth, but we can't save all those lives lost today, in the present."

They had begun their journey back to the inn, "You didn't just save the future of Markarth, Sattilde. You saved thousands, possibly even hundreds of thousands, of lives by killing Madanach. If three lives is what it took to free Markarth, then I'd call that a victory."

Sattilde mulled this over all the way to their inn room and when they entered and she sat upon the bed, she mustered, "I suppose you have a point, as always, Bryn."

He kissed the top of her head, "I know you're tired. Let's get some rest so we can find out about Gallus's journal."

* * *

After a hearty lunch of Markarth style short pig and potato porridge, Sattilde and Brynjolf asked around for the whereabouts of Calcelmo. The guard directed them to Understone Keep.

"The Jarl's keep." Brynjolf had a devious expression. "Think about the treasure waiting inside..."

Sattilde shook her head in amusement, "Stay focused, Bryn. We need to get Gallus's journal translated. We can clean out the keep later, when all of this mess is behind us."

Brynjolf's face sunk, "We may not get another chance, lass, with your new quest at hand." Not wanting to announce her being Dragonborn aloud.

Sattilde had almost forgotten she was Dragonborn. Helping the people of Skyrim had taken her constant worrying mind off of it for a while, which made her feel all the more guilty.

"Oh... right." she muttered contritely.

"Here we are." Brynjolf said, peeling back the great hall doors to what looked like an excavation site. "Um..."

"Is this the right place?" Sattilde asked, taking a step inside. "This looks more like a cave."

"It's the right place; look!" Brynjolf pointed through the rectangular doorway across the room, that opened up to the Jarl's throne room.

"Then maybe this is where Calcelmo is." Sattilde nudged Brynjolf to the left, over the rubble, into a very impressively open area. Someone, possibly Calcelmo and his workers, had discovered a Dwemer site just inside the mountain range at the back of the city.

At the left, a large Dwemer styled gazebo of sorts overlooked the caverns of the Dwemer castle. A stone bridge, ancient, but still sturdy, stretched across the cavern to two braziers that had been lit recently. They bucked wildly in front of a dwarven metal door, its bulky doorframe invited in friends, but intimidated enemies. Stretching perpendicular to the door was another bridge, leading up to two more gazebos on either side, which seemed to serve as watchtowers. On each side of the bridge leading to the door, stood diamond shaped pillars, the corners smooth, but the flat edges were recessed. On top of these pillars, brass colored dwarven spheres.

These automatons were designed and built by the Dwemer long ago. There were many different types, most of which Sattilde had only read about and seen sketches of: the sphere, which resembled an armored man at the top, but his feet were replaced with a wheel which he used for mobility; the commonly known spider, which had four legs for maneuvering and two legs for building, mining, or repairing other automatons, the top of it was an open cavity, holding a gem for it to generate electricity and shock intruders; lastly, the fearsome centurion, with a menacing metal face, it had steam valves that could burn a victim, towering at 9 feet, they typically had weapons for appendages, usualy a hammer for one arm, and a sharp blade for the other. They were something Sattilde hoped never to encounter.

At the right, near the edge of the cavern drop-off, a man with his back to Sattilde and Brynjolf, hovered over a magically enchanted desk; he was flipping through some tomes, jotting notes on the pages. Sattilde and Brynjolf stood back for a minute, pretending to admire the Dwemer architecture.

"Okay. I'll stir up a conversation with him. When he's distracted, snag those keys off of him." Brynjolf whispered. Sattilde saw the keyring on the man's sash, right next to some vials he had tied to his waist. She hated keyrings; they were usually difficult to unclip without making the keys jingle.

"Got it." Sattilde hung back, nervous about her task, while Brynjolf approached Calcelmo. He put his right arm on his waist and let his left hand dangle at his side.

The man barely glanced at Brynjolf, before his voice echoed in the room, "Look, I'm very busy, so this better be important."

"I hear you're the authority on ancient Falmer." Brynjolf replied in a friendly tone, motioning with his left hand for Sattilde to come closer.

Calcelmo stopped his scribbling and faced Brynjolf, "Then you were well informed. I am, at this very moment, on the cusp of completing my magnum opus on the subject." he boasted.

Sattilde edged closer behind Calcelmo, just a few feet away in the poorly lit ruin.  
Calcelmo continued to brag about himself, clueless to the thief at his back, "I'm calling it 'Calcelmo's Guide to the Falmer Tongue.' It will revolutionize the way we understand those ancient beings."

Sattilde was just close enough to graze the back of his navy blue robes.

"Perhaps I could view your work?" Brynjolf suggested, keeping his eyes fixed on Calcelmo, never faltering.

"Preposterous!" Calcelmo rejected, startling Sattilde to a halt. "That research represents years of personal toil in some of the most dangerous Dwemer ruins in Skyrim!" Sattilde could now yank his robe off is she so desired. She reached up cautiously, gently reaching for the keyring, "You must be mad to think I'd allow anyone to see it before it's completed." Sattilde had hold of the keyring, but had to do the difficult task of freeing it from Calcelmo's sash.

Brynjolf knew he'd reject the offer as he'd dealt with many College students before, but he rubbed his index and thumb together, "What will it cost to change your mind?"

Sattilde used both of her hands to bring the connecting ends of the keyring apart.

"I'm not certain how many scholars you're accustomed to dealing with, but I can assure you that personal wealth is our lowest priority." Sattilde slipped the keyring down, lightly brushing Calcelmo's body as she did, under the sash. She gripped the keys with her other hand to silence the three keys as she finally had the keyring in her possession.

At this Calcelmo turned back to his notes, "Try not to disturb me in the future, I'm in the midst of groundbreaking research!" Sattilde quickly removed the keys from the keyring, stuffing them in her pocket, and discreetly setting the empty ring on the ground, so it appeared to have fallen off his person when he wasn't paying attention.

"Well, thanks for the information." Brynjolf said, taking his leave; Calcelmo never having noticed Sattilde's presence. Once they had removed themselves from the Keep, Sattilde couldn't contain her giddiness, skipping ahead of Brynjolf down the steps to the streets, she turned and walked backwards, her face beaming.

"That was amazing, Brynjolf! How did you know he'd start bragging about himself?"

Brynjolf shrugged, feigning ignorance, "I guess it's a gift."

"Well, either way, it was impressive! What's our next move?" she said, falling behind so she was beside Brynjolf again, skipping at his pace.

"Well, now we wait. I noticed a way into his little museum when we went into the keep." Brynjolf opened the door of the Silver-Blood Inn for Sattilde. "But we can't get in there until tonight, when there's less activity in the streets." he whispered.

They entered their room, shutting the door behind them so no one could overhear their conversation, "Alright. Then let's rest a bit and maybe explore the city, then we'll break into his museum." Sattilde couldn't stop smiling about her success.

* * *

That night, Sattilde and Brynjolf made their way into the sleeping Markarth; all of the candles had been blown out, only the streetlamps were lit. They crept beneath the walkway hovering over the street, the one they had seen when they first entered the city. The shadow cast by the overhang made them even more difficult to see.

"Up there!" Brynjolf whispered, motioning with his eyes at the cliff to the left. "Next to the Keep."

"I don' see it." Sattilde scanned the site, but couldn't find what Brynjolf was looking at.

"To the left, lass."

Sattilde saw a mass of rocks which hadn't been removed, jutting out from the cliff, next to Understone Keep. At the top of the bluff was a belfry sticking out, almost like a chimney. It had a small square window at the front, and if just the right person scaled the crag, they could sneak inside.

"I see it." Sattilde whispered, stuffing her hands in her pocket as a guard strolled by.

"You think you can climb it, lass?"

"Absolutely." Sattilde took another glance after the guard went by, "There's an archway, easy to scale. Once on top of that, it's just a hop, skip, and jump away to the top."

The night was late, so the only people out were a couple of guards; there was a guard down at Cidhna Mine, watching the entrance, and then the guard patrolling the streets. She glimpsed to her left where said guard was just passing under the archway she mentioned.

"C'mon." she tugged Brynjolf's sleeve, crouching low, her left arm stretched behind her for balance. They moved quickly, like foxes to a henhouse, and as the guard took the stairs down towards the Warrens, they stood against the blocky archway's leg.

"Up ya go, lass!" Brynjolf laced his fingers together for Sattilde to use as a lift to the archway's top. He sprung her up and she grabbed hold of the archway's edge, hoisting herself up. She took a quick look behind her; the guard was out of sight.

"Here!" she threw her left hand down which Brynjolf tightly grasped, and with her right hand squeezing his forearm, she managed to haul him up far enough so he could also grab the edge and pull himself up. "Let's go!" She motioned, still crouching as low as she could without crawling. The only light available at this hour was the moonlight, high in the sky. More often than not, Sattilde found herself feeling around for the next ledge to grab.

She pulled herself up the first boulder and hopped to her left onto a broken architectural piece, which must have gotten left behind when they excavated the mountainside and formed the Jarl's keep.

She watched Brynjolf climb the first rock, and when she saw he had safely made it, she leaped to a juniper tree above, gripping the branches, she started to swing. When she was going fast enough, she launched herself forward to the next rock directly above Brynjolf.

"Not makin' this easy, lass." He commented from the broken stonework. He mimicked her, grabbing hold of the juniper tree above him, and then like an acrobat, lunging to the rock she was on, which was just big enough for the both of them.

"Duck!" she ordered quietly, throwing herself onto her belly. Brynjolf did the same.

The guard had returned from around the corner, making his way up the street just as he had done a few minutes before. He stopped under the bridge where Sattilde and Brynjolf had been planning their heist and glanced around, but assuming the two had returned home, he continued up the stairs and then under the archway to start his round all over again.

"C'mon! One more rock and we're there!" Sattilde tapped Brynjolf's shoulder and in response, he locked his fingers again, lunging her upward, but it failed.

"It's too high!" she whispered, stepping off of his hand. "Let me on your shoulders." Brynjolf bent over, Sattilde wrapped her long leg around the back of his neck, and he rose, forming a two-person column. Sattilde gripped his head and then brought her left leg up onto his shoulder.

"Steady." she whispered calmly, even though her body was trembling, trying to balance itself. "Steady." she repeated as she brought her other leg up onto his shoulders, putting them both at the top of his back. Brynjolf gripped her ankles, helping to balance her. He lifted her up, shaking as he did, not wanting to make a sound and not wanting the guard to suddenly appear around the corner. She was just able to grab the edge of the last ledge and pull herself up.

She looked back down to Brynjolf below, but it was too steep for her to grab him.

"Go on!" He called in a hushed voice. "I'll wait out here for you. Throw me your bag!"

"But-"

"Get in there!" he ordered and then ducked beneath the rock's shadowy ledge, out of sight from the patrolling guard. Sattilde had no choice but to go it alone, so she tossed her bag to him. Sattilde turned to face the last climb she had to make and then sprung up, catching the windowsill as gravity attempted to pull her back down. She grunted as she pulled herself in; it was much smaller than she had anticipated, but she managed to squeeze through.

"They say circles don't fit in square holes, but explain that." She huffed from the floor. She wearily returned to her crouched position and followed the stairs that twisted down to the right and then met up with the balcony above Understone Keep, where the waterfall poured into the streets of Markarth behind the bridge.

She found the door to the laboratory on her left, but not before taking a quick look over the edge of the balcony. The guard was just coming around again and she flung herself to her stomach to avoid being seen. She crawled to the door of Calcelmo's lab and used one of the keys she had swiped to open the doors. Calcelmo's place of research, being built in a Dwemer ruin, had dwarven metal chairs and slabs of stone for tables and workbenches. Candles were scattered about where dirtied tomes, open texts, rolled scrolls, and inkwells, all the signs of Calcelmo's diligent studying and jotting of notes, lay unorganized.

Sattilde flipped through journals, scanned many tomes, and pored over countless books, but found nothing that would help in helping them translate Gallus's journal.

"Now where did I leave that blasted quill." a voice echoed through the laboratory.  
 _Calcelmo!_ Sattilde's heart skipped a beat and her stomach sank. Slinking back into a corner, behind a metal shelf, she watched Calcelmo look under the clutter on one of his desks, and then reveal a feather pen from underneath a thick book.

"Aha! There you are!" then he turned and walked down the stairs at the left, and Sattilde heard the echo of a door slamming shut. She let out a long breath of relief, not realizing she had been holding it.

 _There's nothing here that pertains to Falmer_ or _the Falmer language. I should go back to Bryn. Maybe Gallus already swiped everything Calcelmo had on the language._ Sattilde hurried back to the door she had entered from, back to the balcony and sound of rushing water. She followed her way up the steps, but stopped in her tracks.

There was a door that she had missed when she climbed in the window. She used the another key she had grabbed off of Calcelmo and unlocked the door, entering a corridor that was oddly, brightly lit. A tattered burgundy runway rug guiding her path.

At the end of the hall, the path split into two and then followed staircases up to a stone platform. They met back together at the top of this platform where close to the edge, was a cracked monolith.

"This is the most boring job Skyrim." she heard a woman's voice carrying down the halls.

Sattilde glanced to her right and seeing Dwemer piping crawling down the wall, she grabbed hold, using her legs and upper body strength to ascend the metal piping up to another thicker pipe running horizontally around the perimeter of the room. She had to meticulously place the arches of her boots over the curve of the air duct to prevent herself from slipping and falling.

"Yeah, but the pay is good. So what're you gonna do?" she heard a man reply as she crept forward, following the vents into the opening where the tablet tempted Sattilde. Down below, to her left, she could see a man and woman dressed in Markarth guard uniforms, discussing their poor career choice.

"I guess you're right. After all, I get to see you run in fear every time Calcelmo does an experiment with the spiders." the woman giggled.

"Yeah, yeah. That was a one-time incident, and I only ran because Calcelmo used that spider rod on it, and made it chase me across the yard." the man huffed in embarrassment.

"Sure, _Calcelmo_ did it." she teased.

"Shut up and let's get back to guarding the place." he ordered and they returned to their usual patrol. Sattilde followed the vent to the right and then around the corner, where the stairs up to the central platform weren't so far below. Once the female guard turned and headed back to the left of the room, Sattilde jumped down and inspected the tablet. The material looked to be the same type of stone used in the city, in the center of it, above the markings, was a Dwemer centurion head, mounted against the tablet.

Sattilde had to lean in close to see the markings on the tablet, but they were the same symbols that were in Gallus's journal, carved in low relief.

 _How in Oblivion do I get this to Enthir?_ She couldn't possibly lift the thing. She took a look around the area, searching for anything to write on or write with, but it appeared to just be a place to display the artifact. Behind her, an open door led into another one of Calcelmo's studies. On a desk, in the center of the room, lay some paper that had been scribbled on and some broken pieces of charcoal. She fumbled through the pages and found a blank one. She grabbed a piece of charcoal, not paying any attention to the layout of the room and placed the paper to Falmer letters. Using the charcoal, she rubbed it against the carvings, transferring them onto the paper.

She heard boots approaching and rolled up the paper, chucking the charcoal back into the study, and leaping to the pipe against the higher portion of the wall. The female guard had returned, surveying the area for potential intruders. Sattilde quickly, quietly followed the pipe back to the entrance. When she got to the corner where the woman was making her way back to the other side of the room again, Sattilde slipped, her boot falling between the wall and the duct.

It made a low thudding noise when she landed and she gasped. She looked down but the guard hadn't heard her; she was making her way back down the left most hallway again. Sattilde looked down at her foot; the toe of her boot had become wedged between one of the thinner pipes running vertically along the wall. She tried twisting her ankle free, but it did nothing. She looked back to the hallway, but the woman guard was still out of sight.

"Ungh." she grunted in a low voice. She pushed the tip of her foot downward, which managed to turn her boot so the top of her foot was touching the wall. She looked down again at the hallway where she could hear the impending footsteps of the guard.

"C'mon." She whispered, almost inaudibly. She jerked her foot backward, freeing her boot, but it banged against the pipe. The low bass sound seemed to echo ceaselessly in the room (even though it wasn't that loud). She jerked on her leg, trying to hurry as the guard's pace quickened, tugging it, until it edged over to a wider space and she was able to replace it back on top of the vent. She balanced herself again, holding to the vent with her hands, steadying herself like a spider on a precarious web.

A moment later, the guard appeared and stopped at the opening of the corridor, "Huh... thought I heard something." she looked around, but Sattilde had already craftily followed the pipeline and slipped outside the door of the tower. Leaning against it, she allowed her heartbeat to placate and once calmed, she gazed out the tiny window to the streets below for a minute or two. Then she saw the guard coming around again and as he neared the bluff, he was no longer visible, so Sattilde pulled herself out of the window and then scooted to the edge of the high rock. She jumped, like a cat from a tabletop, to the next ledge where Brynjolf was awaiting her return.

"Did you find anything?" he asked quietly, but eagerly, handing Sattilde her pack.

She unrolled her rubbing, "Yes. Let's get out of this Oblivion forsaken city." They followed their path back down, leaping from stone to stone, until they landed on the archway and hopped down to the streets below. They raced to the city exit, laughing like children sneaking out of the house, and left Markarth behind in the cover of night.


	8. Mercer's Plan

**CHAPTER EIGHT: MERCER'S PLAN**

It took them a day to finally return to Whiterun and after staying at the inn, they journeyed forth with the sun at their sides. They passed by the Loreius farm, but by this time, the carriage had long since been removed. The guard, however, still patrolled the road for potential bandits. When Sattilde and Brynjolf passed by the gravel farm road, Sattilde took a quick glimpse at the farmhouse on the hill.

The guard walking by shook his head, "You don't want to go up there, citizen."

"What? Why?" Sattilde asked.

"It's a terrible sight." the guard clicked his tongue in disgust, "The farmer and his wife, murdered, last night." Then under his breath, still shook from what he witnessed, he added, "So many knife wounds..."

Sattilde gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth, "That's horrible!"

"The place is off-limits until we can get it cleaned up." The guard announced.

Sattilde nodded her head, "Well... thank you for letting us know. We had just spoken to them a couple of days ago. I can't believe this happened."

Sattilde and Brynjolf moved further down the road when Sattilde shot him an unforgiving glance, "Now what do you have to say for yourself?"

"What?" Brynjolf was genuinely surprised at her response. "What are you talking about?" Sattilde remained glaring.

"You think Cicero did this?!"

"You don't?"

"I mean the man was completely off his tree, but you don't think..."

Sattilde stared at him, a wildly disconcerting look in her eyes, "The man was completely off his tree, dressed as a court entertainer, traveling across Skyrim, with a dead body in his cart."

"But not a murderer." Brynjolf wagged his finger.

"You even admitted he gave you an uneasy feeling. Don't try to justify crossing that crazy loon."

"Oh who am I kidding?" Brynjolf sighed, almost groaning, "You told me this wasn't the last we'd hear about Cicero, and here we are. So you're probably right."

"Probably?" Sattilde raised an eyebrow.

Brynjolf smirked, "I didn't realize you were investigating this murder personally, Sattilde. Do you have sound evidence that Cicero committed this crime?"

Sattilde chuckled, "Fair point. All right. 'Probably right.'"

After a few minutes of silence, Brynjolf concluded their conversation with, "Poor thing about the Loreius folk though."

They didn't talk anymore. They reflected on what the outcome may have been if they had been successful in convincing Loreius to fix Cicero's wagon wheel. In their minds though, they concluded that they didn't actually know if it was Cicero who murdered them, and that it could have been a unfortunate coincidence.

By the time they had finished mentally mourning the Loreius family, they had arrived in Winterhold. No snow fell, but it was still fresh, so it had more than likely fallen in the night. They entered the inn and looked around, searching for Enthir.

"You looking for Enthir?" the blond Nord innkeeper asked, wiping some tables down with a rag.

"Yessir." Brynjolf answered.

"He's down those stairs," the Nord pointed behind the counter where a handrail leading beneath the inn could be seen, "Feel free to head down there."

"Thank you." Sattilde and Brynjolf said, then stomped down the stairs into the basement of the Frozen Hearth. At the left, at the end of a long basement, cluttered with crates, barrels, brewing vats, and hay bales (for stuffing the beds), they saw Enthir and a dark silhouette.

They approached cautiously, as the two seemed to be discussing something.

"Yeah... I remember that too." Enthir smiled, his hands shoved into the pockets of his robe. He noticed Sattilde and Brynjolf approaching, "Back, eh?"

Once they were closer, they could see the silhouette was, in fact, Karliah. She had her hood up and she appeared to have been crying.

"Did you find out anything from Calcelmo?" Enthir asked, pulling both of their attentions away from the mourning Dunmer.

"This should help translate Gallus's journal." Sattilde carefully pulled out the rolled parchment, not wanting to smudge the charcoal. She handed it to Enthir who unraveled it and eyed Sattilde.

"A rubbing, eh? Odd..."

"Is it destroyed?" Sattilded asked nervously.

"No no, I expected notes is all."

Sattilde laughed, "How I even got that rubbing is quite the tale."

Enthir wasn't amused, after all, he had a difficult task to do, "I understand. Now," he moved to a table that was behind him, underneath a goat horn chandelier, "let me get a good look at this." He took some paper weights and set them on the corners of the parchment so they wouldn't roll up. "I'll need the journal." He stuck his hand out, in which Sattilde placed Gallus's diary.

He flipped it to the latter half of the journal, "Hmm..."

Karliah approached the table, throwing her hood from her head, impatiently waiting for Enthir to translate the contents.

"This is intriguing..." he flipped a page, "but highly disturbing."

"What does it say?" Sattilde asked, with equal impatience.

Enthir glanced down at the charcoal rubbing, then back at the journal, "It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey's allegiance to the guild for months." He ran his index finger horizontally across Gallus's words, "Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an '...unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures.'"

Karliah was now leaning over the table, as if she'd be able to read the journal too, "Does it say where this wealth came from?"

Enthir turned the page, "Yes. Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge."

Karliah's next question made it sound as if she didn't care that Mercer was suspected of stealing from the guild, "Anything about... the Nightingales, Enthir?"

Enthir shot a perturbed look at Karliah, then examined the journal again, flipping back a page, and then forward again, "Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe 'the failure of the Nightingales' although it doesn't go into great detail." He turned the page, "Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as 'the Twilight Sepulcher.'"

"Shadows preserve us." Karliah gasped, dismay in her voice. "So it's true..."

"I'm not familiar with this Twilight Sepulcher." Enthir looked to Karliah with curiosity. "What is it? What's Mercer Frey done?" he growled as he shut Gallus's final words.

"I'm sorry, Enthir," Karliah tugged at her hood, trying to pull it further over her head, "I can't say. All that matters is that we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately."

Karliah nodded at Sattilde and Brynjolf, the redness in her eyes had gone down, then she looked back to Enthir, "Farewell, Enthir..." But then she choked, "Words can't express..."

Enthir approached her, draping a heartfelt hug across her shoulders, "It's alright, Karliah. You don't have to say a word." Then he turned to face Brynjolf and Sattilde, "Look, all I want is the truth to be revealed to the Guild. They respected Karliah, and she deserves better. Do whatever you can and I'd consider it a personal favor."

"Thank you, Enthir." Brynjolf replied.

"It really was not problem at all, Bryn."

Karliah interrupted them, "We must hasten to Riften before Mercer can do anymore damage to the Guild." Trepidation not only filled her voice, but her eyes as well.

"Let's go then. It will take us a few hours to make it back to Riften." Sattilde replied, following Karliah back up the stairs. Brynjolf shook Enthir's hand, mumbled his leave, then followed the women. When they left the inn, it was noon. They hadn't even passed Whistling Mine before Sattilde observed Karliah; the most Sattilde could see was the tip of her nose beyond the rim of her hood. Every second, a puff of steam would emerge from Karliah's hood; she was breathing rather rapidly.

"Karliah..." Sattilde finally said.

Karliah turned her head and Sattilde could see her violet eyes, shining like amethysts from the shade of her cloak. Her guild armor was worn, but not from combat, rather, the leather had undergone much weather damage. Karliah truly was a master thief. She had clearly avoided many unwanted battles to have her armor kept in the perfect condition for two and half decades.

"Yes?" Karliah replied.

Sattilde had forgotten she had said her name.

"Gallus's journal..." Sattilde looked ahead, "It mentioned something call the 'Twilight Sepulcher.'"

Karliah faced straight ahead too, "You've come this far," puffs of air flowing from her hood as she spoke, "so I see no harm in concealing it any longer."

Brynjolf quickened his pace, walking on the the left side of Karliah, listening intently.

"The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple to Nocturnal. It's what the Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives."

"Nocturnal? You mean the Daedric god, right?" Sattilde asked.

"Yes."

"Why does this temple require protection?" Brynjolf asked. Karliah turned to him.

"Everything that represents Nocturnal's influence is contained within the walls of the Sepulcher. Now it seems Mercer's broken his oath with her and defiled the very thing he swore to protect." Karliah sighed and then looked straight ahead again.

"Thieves and temples?" Sattilde shook her head, "It just doesn't add up."

Karliah had a faint smile on her face, "I felt the same way when Gallus first revealed these things to me." She looked at Sattilde, her smile gone, "I think given time, you'll understand what I mean."

"I'd understand if less mystery was involved." Sattilde kept her eyes forward as they continued walking. Karliah did the same as well.

"As a Nightingale, I've been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I know the guild doesn't do much to foster faith, but I'm going to have to ask that you two continue to trust me." She took a quick glance at Sattilde and then at Brynjolf, both of whom nodded; Brynjolf somewhat reluctantly.

She then looked to Sattilde, "Sattilde, I want you to have this." Karliah unlatched the blade on her left hip and handed it to Sattilde. "It belonged to Gallus, but given the circumstances, I think he'd approve."

Sattilde took it and unsheathed the sword. It was long, straight, coming to a point at the literal very end of the metal. It had scarlet colored veins branching out from the edges of the blade, and unlike most similar weapons, it had no cross-guard. Where the cross-guard would have been, a fearsome black nightingale encompassed a four-point star in a circle. The grip was ribbed all the way down to the pommel which had three feathers spread out like a bird's tail. The blade had recently been polished, so the metal shone like new.

"Karliah, I couldn't possibly..." Sattilde pushed the blade back into the sheath and tried to return Karliah's gift.

Karliah stuck one hand up, "Consider it a gift from Gallus for helping me."

Sattilde examined the blade one more time, taking in all of its details, "Thank you, Karliah. I'll put it to good use." She clipped the blade around her waist; it tapped her leg as she walked.

By the time they reached Riften, nightfall had arrived. Sattilde took a deep breath, smelling the leaves and autumn air. She and Brynjolf were finally home again and it felt bittersweet. They entered the city and made their way to the secret entrance to the guild. Brynjolf reached and pushed the button on the altar.

Nothing happened.

He looked to Sattilde and Karliah, as if they would have any idea why the entrance wasn't opening.

Nothing happened.

"They've locked down the guild." Brynjolf said.

"Mercer." Karliah growled.

"Let's go through the Ratways." Sattilde suggested. They turned back around, heading past the Temple of Mara, and to the left. The stairs to the docks were near the Honorhall Orphanage, at their right. They went down and crossed the waterway flowing in from the lake. They arrived at the Ratways below the marketplace. Inside, they found the tunnels that would eventually lead them to the Ragged Flagon. It was a longer path to the guild, but they had no other choice.

Down the dripping tunnels, they rounded a brick support pillar and then went to the right. The next room had no lights, as it was not used often, if at all. They knew the way though and hugged the wall, eventually passing over a rotted drawbridge. They made a left at the end and entered upon a square, empty room. It was well lit as it was a room used to store shipments and hide stolen paraphernalia, but currently, all shipments had been delivered. They turned right and down two steps to a door.

"All right. Stick close." Brynjolf instructed. "The guild is on lockdown, no doubt because of Mercer."

"Okay, Brynjolf." Karliah said in nervousness.

"What if Mercer's there?" Sattilde asked.

"Then we show them Gallus's journal and hope for the best." Brynjolf said. "Remember. We've got proof and all he's got is his word."

"Let's go then." Sattilde said finally.

They entered the Flagon. The welcoming home Sattilde and Brynjolf once knew suddenly filled with glaring faces and turned-up noses. They watched as Karliah passed by with them, going through the hall beyond the bar, and into the cistern.

They were then approached by Vex and Delvin who had their weapons drawn, "You better have a good reason to be here with that murderer." Vex hissed.

"Please, lower your weapons so we can speak."

"Why should we?"

"We have proof that you've all been mislead."

Sattilde turned around to see that the rest of the guild had come in from the Flagon, also with weapons drawn.

"No tricks, Karliah, or I'll cut ya where ya stand." Delvin said with equal animosity.

"I have Gallus's journal. I think you'll find its contents..." She approached Vex with the leather bound book, "disturbing." Vex and Delvin put their blades away and thumbed through the journal together, slowly reading Enthir's translation.

"No..." Delvin rubbed the back of his head after a few minutes. "It... it can't be!"

"This can't be true," Vex finally said. "I've known Mercer too long..."

"It's true." Karliah said, "Every word. Mercer's been stealing from the guild for years, right under your noses." She emphasized the last four words. There were some whispers behind Sattilde as the guild began discussing the news Karliah had brought. Everything they thought of Mercer, as the trustworthy leader, as their role model, shattered before their eyes. The stories he told them about Karliah were all fabrications to cover up his own red hands.

"Now, we need to find out if what Gallus suspected was correct." Brynjolf spoke up. "Delvin, I'll need you to open the Vault."

"Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn." Delvin placed a fist against his hip, "How can Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys? It's impossible. Could he pick his way in?"

The five of them made their way across the cistern to the brass doors, the ones that locked away the treasure the guild had accumulated. Sattilde always imagined mountains of golden dishware, boxes of enchanted jewelry, piles of gold, chests of jewels and gems hidden inside.

Vex scoffed, "That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy. There's no way it can be picked."

"He didn't need to pick the lock." Karliah stated.

"What's she on about?" Delvin asked, still wary of her.

Brynjolf ignored his question though, "Use your key on the vault, Delvin. We'll open it up and you'll know the truth."

Delvin approached the two metal doors, revealing a brass key. When he turned it in the keyhole, a dozen tumblers could be heard in the left door, working their way down to the keyhole itself before finally ceasing. The door however was still locked on the right side.

Delvin pushed against it, but to no avail. He turned and looked to Brynjolf, "I've used my key, but the vault's still locked up tighter than a drum. Use yours."

Brynjolf approached the right door, doing the same as Delvin, he turned and a dozen tumblers made their way to unlatch the door. Brynjolf pushed the two open to reveal a barren vault.

"By the Eight!" Brynjolf shouted. "It's gone! Everything's gone!"

Vex, Delvin, Karliah, and Sattilde all raced inside. The chests had all been picked and their contents removed. A few stray gold coins lay on the floor. The armor, the jewelry, the weapons were all removed. The safes were wide open, a few more coins spilling out of them, left behind by the thief. Every crate, every barrel, every urn, chest, safe, jewelry box, display case had their contents swiped.

"The gold... the jewels..." Delvin peered into some of the open containers.

"It's all gone." Sattilde said, looking into an empty urn in the corner.

"That mangy piece of Skeever tail! I'll kill him!" Vex drew her sword.

"Vex! Put it away..." Brynjolf scowled, "Right now." to which Vex complied.

"Fine. We'll do it your way... for now." She folded her arms, still examining the empty room around her.

"The first thing we need to do is keep a lookout for Mercer. Delvin, Vex, you two watch the Flagon. If you see him, come tell Tonilia right away." Vex and Delvin darted out; Delvin to the cistern entrance and Vex to the Flagon entrance. He turned to Sattilde, "I need you to break into Mercer's home and search for anything that could tell us where he's gone."

"You mean Riftweald Manor?" Sattilde worried. She had been past Mercer's home many times in Riften. It was well-guarded, she always assumed to protect his stolen goods, but she now understood it was to protect his secret treachery. The place was crawling with mercenaries though and he had a man patrolling the back door at all hours. Mercer himself couldn't break into the house if he tried.

"Aye. He never stays there, just pays for the upkeep on it."

"But what about Vald?" Sattilde asked.

"That lout? He couldn't find his own nose if you put it right in front of his face. I think Mercer is holding something over his head though. Keeping him loyal." Brynjolf put a pondering finger to his chin, "Talk to Vex, if I remember correctly, she used to know him... on a more... intimate level. If you catch my meaning."

"I'm on it, Bryn." Sattilde headed across the cistern into the Flagon. She caught Vex at the door who seemed more agitated than Sattilde had ever seen.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She heard Sattilde coming up behind her.

Sattilde stopped, "Tell you what?"

"That you were..." Vex turned around, making sure no one else was around to hear them. "Dragonborn."

Sattilde's heart pounded and her face flushed, "Who told you that?"

"Brynjolf."

Sattilde didn't say anything. She didn't think Bryn would ever do something like this. Why was he entrusting Vex with this news?

"When?"

"What does it matter?" Vex looked at Sattilde over her shoulder.

"It just does."

"When you got Rockjoint." Vex faced the door again, a steady hand on the pommel of her dagger. "He was so worried about you. He knew you'd go meet the Greybeards and..." she looked down, "He was so worried about you."

"So he decided to tell a secret of mine?" Sattilde was becoming impatient. She finally realized why Vex was less than enthusiastic when she and Brynjolf had become a couple, despite encouraging Brynjolf hours earlier to admit his love.

Vex turned around and faced Sattilde straight on, "He was worried about you! He had to talk to someone about why he was worried. He couldn't do that without revealing your... your... whatever you want to call it, Sattilde."

"But he's okay now." Sattilde pointed out.

Vex placed an oddly, friendly hand on Sattilde's shoulder, "Sattilde, he'll never stop worrying about you. He's in love with you and the fear of losing you." She let go, "That will never leave him." She shook her head.

"Then why did he say-"

"He wants you to fulfill your destiny, Sattilde. He wants to go with you. He wants to be scared for you, but being there beside you is the only way his heart will rest easily at night." Vex had returned to guarding the door, "Knowing he can be there to protect you if you need. _That's_ what will help him worry less."

Sattilde looked to the hallway that led to the cistern; remembering how Brynjolf had reacted to her reveal of being the savior for Skyrim. She finally understood why Brynjolf desperately wanted to come with her to Solitude and why he was accompanying her now. He thinks he can prevent an untimely death or somehow rescue her.

She returned her gaze to Vex, remembering her task at hand, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Vex. It's not something I wanted revealed to the guild just yet. I'm still learning what it means, what people expect of me..." She felt a wave of horror wash over her. She had been so caught up in uncovering Mercer's deceit that she had forgotten about the greater task at hand.

Vex paused for a moment to sympathize with Sattilde's feelings, "I understand." she finally said, not looking back again.

Sattilde made a promise to herself right then and there, in the midst of the pursuit for Mercer Frey's life, that once she ended it, she would fulfill her calling as the Dragonborn.

"Well, if you don't mind then, I need your help." Sattilde turned her attention back to the current task at hand.

"With what?"

"Brynjolf wants me to break into Mercer's house."

"Really?" Vex said with skepticism. "That place is booby trapped beyond belief, but, I guess we don't have much of another option if we want to find that bastard, do we?"

"Bryn said you'd know something about Vald." Sattilde tried to hide that she knew somewhat about Vex's past with him.

"That pig?" Vex smirked back at Sattilde, "Oh, I have info on him. More than you care to know."

"I need to convince him to let me into Mercer's house."

"The only thing Vald understands is gold." She then added in a facetiously infatuated manner, "A man after my own heart."

"So, buy him off?"

Vex shrugged, "Sure, but he'll ask for a whole lot. I mean, you are asking him to betray Mercer Frey. Your best bet would be to erase his debt with Maven."

"His debt with Maven? I thought Mercer was holding something over him."

"Nah, Maven has some kind of previous vendetta with Vald. Some kind of job gone wrong?"

"All right, thanks, Vex." Sattilde then took her leave of the Flagon, into the cistern, and then into the foggy city. It was even later, so Maven would more than likely be in her own estate across the city. Sattilde crossed around to the right side of the market place, strolling by the inn, and then crossing one of the bridges that connected the main walkways. On the other side of the bridge, Maven's home was a two story abode with a slate stone foundation and birch wood, darkened and rotted through the years. It had only one entrance (besides the back cellar) that was guarded by her housecarl, Maul.

Maul was a shorter Nord than most, dark hair pulled back into a braid. He had a closely shaven mustache that wrapped around his upper lip and chin. His nose was quite large in between his narrow dark eyes. Sattilde had to deal with him on multiple occasions, mostly to speak with Maven, whom he guarded with his whole being.

"What do you want, Sattilde?" despite their many encounters, Maul didn't like anyone except those that paid him his weekly income. He used to be a member of the guild, but quit a couple of years ago when the guild's luck didn't improve. His brother Dirge, however, stayed and was an active member for the guild.

"I need to speak with Maven." Sattilde replied. They both tried to stay hush-hush about their conversation, as it usually involved something illegal.

"Make it quick, Sattilde. It's getting late and the guards are going to be making their rounds soon." He turned and opened the door for her. At the right, nestled in a corner, Maven was sipping tea and scanning documents next to a tiny end table, only able to fit her teacup, stack of papers, and candle.

She glanced toward Sattilde upon hearing the opening of her door, and then returned to her document, "Hello, Sattilde. What brings you to my home so late this evening?" Maven's voice sounding more eloquent than usual.

"I know that Vald owes you a great sum of money." Sattilde knew to choose her words carefully. "What can I do to pay off the debt?"

"Vald?" Maven looked back to Sattilde, setting the piece of parchment she was reading on top of the stack of papers. "Why would you want to help _that_ idiot?"

"It pertains to a very ambitious guild matter." Sattilde now had her hands folded together in front of her belt.

"He owes a very steep debt." Maven raised her apathetic eyebrows, "In fact, he's lucky all I did was force him to work for Mercer.

"How steep? Maybe I can pay it off."

Maven snorted, "A few years back, I commissioned a quill from a good friend of mine in Winterhold. Vald was tasked with getting it here safely and it ended up at the bottom of Lake Honrich." Maven crossed her legs, "The wizards called it the Quill of Gemination and demanded a tremendous amount of gold to have it made. It was supposed to allow me to duplicate any writing I'm viewing in exact detail. I'm sure you understand how useful that would prove in a business situation, especially where signatures were involved."

"How did it end up in the lake then?"

Maven leaned back in her cushioned armchair, straightening out her robes, "I had Vald meet the caravan from Winterhold on the western end of the lake so he could avoid the roads." She waved her hand, "The idiot got lost in the mist and ran his boat right over some rocks sending it straight to the bottom!" She placed her index and thumb to her forehead, squinting her eyes with clear agitation, "He's too stupid to remember where he was, and any attempts I've made to find it in the past have been unsuccessful." She shook her head.

"Is there any way I can pay off some portion of his debt? How much did you pay him to retrieve the quill?" Sattilde started to reach in her bag for her coin pouch.

Maven looked back to Sattilde, "I paid him 1,000 septims to get that quill. If you give me 500 now, I'll consider it even."

"Sounds good-"

"However, if you pay me the full 1,000, I'll throw in a favor." The corner of Maven's mouth lifted slightly into a smirk. Sattilde knew it was sometimes worth it pay Maven extra, but sometimes it could be risky; guards could find out, people could get hurt.

"What's the favor?" Sattilde held her bag under her elbow.

"If you pay me 1,000 gold, I'll dismiss the mercenaries that patrol the interior of Mercer's home." Maven rubbed her jaw in a very feminine way.

"That's pretty generous... Maven..." Sattilde furrowed her brow. "Why would you do such a grand favor for me?"

"After your little heist at the Honningbrew Meadery, my gold income has soared. I could pay for three quills at this rate, but I need to break even with the loss Vald caused me. Besides, you're not a bad thief." Maven's compliments always used some sort of negative connotation.

"It's a deal, Maven." Sattilde reached into her bag pulling out the gold Maven had paid her a few weeks before and the gold Loreius had paid her for helping him. She divided out the coin and handed it off to Maven in two full pouches, each 500 coins full.

"Give me a minute," Maven said as she glided across her living area to go stow her gold somewhere. When she returned, she had a document in her hand, "Give this to Vald. It frees him from the debt, but I never want to see him in Riften again." There was the ulterior motive. Sattilde had no choice though, if she wanted inside the house with no trouble, she would have to agree, so she took the document.

"I'll go tell the guards to leave the residence." Sattilde followed Maven just down the walkway a bit to an iron wrought gate. Mercer's house was similar to most of the houses in Riften with the stone foundation and wooden frames and walls. Vald came racing up to her, ready to handle the trespasser. He was a rough Nord, pointed tiny nose, dopey eyes, shaved head, and no shirt. His complexion was a bit dark from spending most days outside. He wore a fur armor that only covered his thighs and leather braces that reached his elbows. He certainly appeared intimidating.

"This is Mercer Frey's place and he don't like visitors. Now go away." When Maven appeared behind Sattilde, he took a step back. "Miss Maven, ma'am. Apologies. Uh, uh, go right in."

"Shut up, Vald." Maven unlocked the door with a spare key she had and entered. Vald glared at Sattilde who held up the document.

"This is a document from Maven releasing you of your debt to her."  
"Ya talked Maven inta lettin' me go?" Vald appeared bewildered.

"Yep. On one condition." Sattilde rolled up the document. "You give me any keys that belong to Mercer's house."

"Here!" He shoved a large hand into his pocket, revealing three keys. "Take 'em. I won't need 'em anymore. Thank you!" He snatched the document from Sattilde's hand and read over the terms. He rolled it up and stuck it in the waistband of his sparse clothing.

Afterwards, he departed behind Sattilde past the gate. Sattilde put the keys he'd given her in her pocket and upon entering Mercer's home, she found Maven waiting for her.  
"I fulfilled my end of the bargain." Maven tucked a stray hair back into the group upon her head, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to finish."

After Maven took her leave, Sattilde took a look around. Mercer's house had clearly cost him quite a bit. The rugs he used to decorate were made from exotic fabrics, the chairs were a sturdy quality wood, the dishware scattered around the house were made of copper. Just as Gallus had said in his journal, Mercer was spending a lavish amount of gold on himself. There were support beams in the middle of the rooms and wooden paneled walls. The floor boards creaked, more than likely from the mercenaries' foot traffic, as Mercer was almost never in his home.

At the right of the room, at the back wall, a dining table was set where the mercenaries had been eating. At the left of the room, almost parallel from the door, a stairway led up to the second floor. Sattilde searched around the first floor, looking in the cabinets, barrels, and crates, but came up empty. She checked behind the doors across from the entryway, but found nothing as well. She decided to check the upper level.

Upstairs, She turned right, past a few seats and made her way across the wooden planks, opening double doors to Mercer's master bedroom. At the left, chairs had been placed near an unlit fireplace. The bed was angled at the right of the room in the corner with a footlocker at the end of the bed. A yellow rug filled the floor space and a couple of cabinets and shelves had been placed against the walls. Sattilde found nothing of use however, save a couple of gold coins in his nightstand.

 _There must be a basement somewhere._ She trotted down the stairs, back to the first floor, making her way past the dining table where a wall separated the stairway down to his basement. There was a counter that ran the length of the wall, herbs hung with twine from the beams above. Food and platters filled the shelves built into the counter. The end wall had a shelf full of cookware and barrels, but nothing of note. There was a short pile of firewood under the stairs and a few crates at the base of the stairs, but nothing was found.

Sattilde returned upstairs into the kitchen area and sat at the table, "Okay... if I were Mercer and I wanted to hide my plans, where would I put them?" Sattilde looked at the standing wardrobe at the left against the wall. A faint light appeared to be glowing behind it. She leaned over for a better view behind it and noticed a seam of fluorescent lighting escaping through a crack in the wall.

"What in the..." She stood up and opened the cupboard. Where the back would normally be attached, it appeared to just be leaning against it. Sattilde pushed against the false back and it fell with a crash that cracked the wood. "A secret passageway." There was a lit torch mounted on the wall directly ahead and at her left, a few stairs led down to a room adjacent from the pantry.

It appeared like a secret study room, but at the right a hollow, round tunnel wound it's way underneath the house, laden with traps. The first open room she came to had a floor of pressure plates, and when activated, fire would shoot from the tiny spouts. The trick for them was to step lightly, letting her weight push on them for only a second before moving forward. Once she was through, she came upon a tunnel that immediately turned right. She stopped, staring down the long path.

She glanced down at the bricks to see three pressure plates placed right in the middle of the path, all the way to the end. They were easy to avoid by hugging the wall, slipping past them to the last room she would have to survive.

There were crates blocking the walls and when she tried to push against them, they wouldn't budge, clearly to make whoever had survived the first traps rethink passing through. Every couple of feet, Mercer had someone build in a mechanism involving swinging axes and hammers. Past the first ones, when they retreated back into their walls, she had to duck quickly for the incoming log aiming for her head. When it swung back the other way, she rolled past the last four blades that had just disappeared into the wall. She had made it past the swinging weapons to the stairwell leading down to a door.

Sattilde reached into her pocket and dug out another key from Vald. She went to unlock the door, but something stopped her. She had noticed something, in the corner of her eye, towards the floor. She looked down to her left where a wire was attached to a claw-like clip. She looked at the other side of the door and noticed a similar trap. After further inspection, it seemed to be that if the wire tugged on the clip, it would release and activate something dangerous.

Withdrawing a blade, she severed both wires, disarming whatever last ditch idea Mercer had planned. Past the door was Mercer's true study. A display case at the right of a desk and a shelf of food at the left. He had an urn overflowing with gold at the foot of the desk.

Inside the case, Sattilde discovered a glass blade, but while most glass armor and weapons were an opaque green, this blade shone blue. The end of the blade designed like an ice shard. The cross-guard was made of Elven material, opening like a lotus flower. The grip of it, scaled downwards to the pommel, which was also made of the blue glass, like an icicle dripping away from the rest of the sword.

She unlocked the case with a lockpick, lifting the glass lid for a closer look. The sword was emitting an air of frost around it and when Sattilde reached inside to touch it, she quickly withdrew her hand, holding it tightly to her chest. The metal had been enchanted with a frost magic and its cold stung like hot coals.

She touched the pommel, which didn't seem to be emitting anything, and found it safe to touch. She grabbed the sword up by the hilt and held it in her hands. It was as light as a feather and she twirled around, cutting at the chair that was seated at the table. The blade was sharp and durable, splitting the chair in two halves, leaving a breath of ice behind it.

Sattilde grabbed the sheath from the case as well, removing her daggers from her waist and strapping the blade on her hip opposite the Nightingale blade. The black leather sheath fitted for the weapon had "Chillrend" embossed into the material. She stowed her daggers into her knapsack.

"You and I have some business to tend to, Chillrend." Sattilde then turned her attention to the desk. There were two books, a few gold pieces, a piece of parchment, and a thick piece of parchment folded multiple times; all these were placed precariously on the surface. One book was titled "The Red Kitchen Reader" and the other a copy of the play filled with sexual innuendos, "The Lusty Argonian Maid." In the corner was a bust of the most famous thief in all of history: The Gray Fox.

The letter though is what caught Sattilde's attention. She opened it up:

 _M,_

 _Not certain how you managed to get your hands on the item we discussed, but I'm more than pleased. I thought you'd simply wait until it was being transported from Castle Dour to its final destination, but according to what I've heard, it vanished right from their armory. I wish I knew how you were able to slip by the guards, bypass the portcullis, unlock the armory door, and break into that dwarven puzzle-locked chest... you need to teach me that little trick some time. I've left your cut in the usual drop spot and might have another job for you soon._

 _\- R_

"Just further proof that Mercer can unlock any puzzle lock... probably with that little tool he had." Sattilde then looked to the thick parchment, unfolding to reveal the greatest heist ever planned in the fourth era. It was detailed and the pages were worn as if they had been handled on dozens of occasions. Sattilde remembered seeing him hovered over documents and reading books, no doubt all used to plan this grand scheme.

 _If he gets away with this, he'll be set up for life. We need to find him immediately! This is the guild's last chance to bring him to justice!_


End file.
